


Misconceptions

by TriscuitsandSoup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Doesn't Exist, Allison does not exist, Alpha Chris, Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha Scott, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Anxiety, Body Image, Cuddling, Depressed Stiles, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Stiles, Established Relationship, Fear, Fertility Issues, Good Peter Hale, Hand Feeding, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Infertility, Insomnia, M/M, Malia Doesn't Exist, Multi, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Polyamory, Sad with a Happy Ending, Scott McCall is a Good Friend, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stilinski Family Feels, body image issues, body issues, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:11:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7267621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriscuitsandSoup/pseuds/TriscuitsandSoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After weeks of trying Stiles is still unable to get pregnant. He struggles with depression and anxiety, and worries his alphas might choose to leave him for another omega. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Oh god,” he breathed, fumbling out another test from the box. He almost dropped it twice. Twenty minutes later he had another result, just as conclusive as the first. <i>Not pregnant. Not pregnant. Not pregnant.</i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a one-shot, and then it just kept going, and going, and going. There are going to be seven parts total. Major themes are infertility, eating disorders, body image issues, and depression, but also with plenty of fluff and Peter and Chris being good, caring alphas.

Stiles wanted to throw up. One, little, blue line was going to ruin his life. One, little, blue line was already ruining his life. He wasn't pregnant. He _wasn't_ pregnant. 

“Oh god,” he breathed, fumbling out another test from the box. He almost dropped it twice. Twenty minutes later he had another result, just as conclusive as the first. _Not pregnant. Not pregnant. Not pregnant._

He took another test. He still wasn't pregnant. He took a third, and a fourth. They were all negative. He paced around the bathroom, bare-footed and very much _not_ pregnant. He kept his eyes on the floor so he wouldn't have to see his disgustingly flat stomach in the mirror. The deeper he tried to breath the more stiff the air felt, it was getting hard to swallow. The walls were closing in on him, watching him, judging him. He braced himself against the counter and took a deep breath. _It's okay. It's okay._

_It's not okay._

From where he leaned on the counter struggling to keep down a breath he was forced to look at himself- or rather, the shell that he once called himself. His eyes were ugly, red, and tear soaked. What damage hadn't been caused by his own crying was created through weeks of sleepless nights. Even lying in bed with his mates he felt like he was doing something wrong, something traitorous. He felt like his body was betraying them. It made his heart and stomach twist into knots that made him feel so sick that when the sun finally dawned on the horizon he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes to it. 

He used to have breakfast with Chris and Peter every morning. Not anymore. He would pull the blanket over his head and grumble that he was still tired. There were a lot of things he used to do with them that he couldn't do now. When he tried Peter would pester him with questions about whether or not he felt any different, if he was gaining weight or having cravings. He'd just smile softly and say he didn't know. 

He had an entire trash bag hidden out in the garage full of negative pregnancy tests and the boxes they came in. If Chris and Peter ever found it he was certain he would actually throw up. His mates wanted a baby so badly, and he hadn't given them one. 

He pressed his back to the door of the bathroom and slid down to the floor. The water in his eyes clouded his vision as he pulled out his cellphone. He dialed a number he knew by heart and pressed it to his ear. The call connected on the third ring. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Scott said on the other end. “Any lu-” 

“No,” he shook his head. His voice was beginning to sound like he'd already drowned. He certainly felt like it. “I'm not pregnant Scott. I'm still _not_ pregnant.” He was beginning to hate those words. He already _did_ hate those words. “I have to have a baby, Scott. I just have to.” 

“It's alright, Stiles. Calm down, okay?” Stiles mumbled an agreement and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.  
“Let's try thinking about this. What if it's not you? What if it's them? Maybe they're infertile.” 

“No,” Stiles shook his head and sniffled. “I don't think that's possible. Maybe one but not both.” He could hear the frown on the other end of the phone, even if Scott said nothing. 

“Okay, so that's out. I think you should try talking to them about it, Chris and Peter-”

“Chris and Peter want a baby, Scott! what if I _can't_ have one? Wh-what if they want another omega? If I cant have one, then I'm basically . . . ” he let his sentence trail off. He didn't want to hear those words from his own mouth. 

Scott was quiet for a few seconds. “If they really want a baby, like really want one, then they might want to use a surrogate omega-” Stiles let out a cry. He didn't want to think about his alphas getting another omega pregnant. “Stiles, let me finish. They _might_ want to use a surrogate, but, I don't think they'd do that without you're consent. They love you, Stiles. There's always adoption.”

“I-I can't . . . I just want to make them happy Scott. Why can't I do the one thing I'm supposed to do? Like literally, biologically this is my _only_ purpose.” 

“It's not your only purpose. You really need to talk to them about this. You've been freaking out for months and you're stressing yourself to death.” Stiles looked down at the floor, at his bare feet and his barren belly. “Doesn't have to be both at once, start with one, then talk to the other? Chris is a calm person, he's not going to over react or lash out at you.” 

“. . . Okay,” Stiles said. He had absolutely no intention of trying. Scott gave him a few more words of encouragement, but there was nothing he could say that he hadn't already said. 

When they were finished Stiles snuck out to the garage and added the new tests to the pile, scowling at the awful devices. Then he went back inside and washed his face, changed into new clothes – ones that didn't smell like stress and fear – and started a fresh load of laundry. When he heard Chris's car pull into the drive he was ready and waiting at the window. His fingers itched to dig themselves into the alphas skin and bury his face in his scent. He needed the love and comfort of his alpha, of both his alphas, but he couldn't tell them why. 

He welcomed Chris with a kiss when he walked through the door. He relished in the draw of his alphas scent, comforting and strong. He wrapped his arms around the older males neck and kissed him chastely, lovingly. Chris took him in with surprise, settling his hands on the omegas hips. 

“Hey there,” he said softly as they pulled away, giving Stiles another warm kiss on the forehead. “Someone's affectionate today,” he chuckled. 

Stiles smiled lightly. “I just missed you.” 

“Missed you too. Stay out of trouble while I was gone?” He leaned his forehead against the omegas. 

Stiles heart stuttered. “What trouble?” 

“You know, the usual kind you get into?” Chris raised a brow. “Running around with the McCall boy, breaking and entering, minor felonies - the usual?” His smile said he was only half serious. 

“Oh,” Stiles laughed a little. “No, no trouble. Not today.” His mind flashed to the stashed bag of pregnancy tests, hidden behind a broken TV and an old radiator. “I just really missed you.” 

“Hm, well how about you and I go take a shower together, and I can show you how much I _really_ missed you, too?” The alphas hands moved from his hips to his ass, pulling him closer. Stiles breathed out, tilting his head to one side as Chris demanded access to his throat and planted his lips against his jugular. 

“Yeah, yeah let's do that.” Stiles eyes flutter closed for a second. “But not in the shower. On the bed.” The shower wasn't good. The shower would wash everything away. He didn't want that.

Chris pulled back a little and nipped at his ear. “As much as I'm loving your enthusiasm, I'm disgusting and sweaty from work. A shower would be-” 

“No.” Stiles insisted. “Not the shower. I want to have sex with you on the bed.” He opened his eyes as Chris's hands slid back to their original position on his hips. His lips left Stiles skin and he moved back to look at him. 

“Stiles, is everything okay?” The alpha frowned. His eyes were worn from work, but he took in the omegas appearance attentively. He brushed a few strands of brown hair back from Stiles eyes.

“Why would you ask me that?” An evil voice whispered in his head that Chris somehow already _knew_. He knew his omegas body was a traitorous one. Why would he want to run his hands over something so vile? The shower was the only place they could be together and he wouldn't get contaminated. _He hates smelling your body on his,_ the evil voice whispered. Stiles was jerked from his poisonous thoughts by Chris's calm, controlled voice. The alphas hands were firm and warm on his hips, his thumb rested on the inside of Stiles shirt. 

“Well, because you've never said 'have sex' before.” 

“I've asked for sex plenty of times.” Stiles furrowed his brow. “I don't get what the issue is.” He was just eager to get another chance at getting a baby into him. Another desperately needed chance. His nails dug into Chris's shirt. 

“Okay, yes, you've initiated before, but you've never called it _sex_. Fucking, screwing, one time I believe the phrase 'dirty tango' came up-” Chris smiled lightly, “-but never sex.” Stiles felt a vein in his forehead begin to pulse. Never in the span of their relationship had Chris put up so much resistance towards having sex with him. He clearly wanted to. 

“You're nitpicking, Chris. Please, just come and _fuck_ me. On the bed. Right now.” He tapped his feet impatiently and leaned forward to reclaim Chris's mouth with his own. His lips were artfully dodged.

“You don't usually look at me like you're terrified, either. What's going on with you lately, Stiles? You've been acting strange.”

“I'm always strange. It's kind of my fundamental personality trait. C'mon Chris, this is what I want.” He fluttered his eyes and pressed closer to the alpha, keeping his arms tight around his neck. He hoped Chris wouldn't feel how empty his womb was. That he wouldn't be disgusted by it. Or maybe he was already put off by it. Maybe he hated the thought of seeing him naked and barren. That was why he wanted sex in the shower, where the heat and the steam would obscure what they were doing and he could pretend he was with another, less broken omega. 

Chris shook his head. His hands left Stiles hips and moved up to his arms, displacing them from around his neck. He gently lowered Stiles arms back down to his sides. Stiles chest throbbed in pain. 

“Chris, _please_.” He begged, with tears forming in his eyes. He tried making contact with his lips again, but was met with another rebuff. 

“Stiles, no.” Chris's hands grasped onto his shoulders and held him firm. “Why is this so important to you? Why do we have to do it right now?” He was so calm, so understanding, looking down at his omega with those worried blue eyes of his. He leaned their foreheads together. 

_He knew_ , Stiles mind told him. _He knows. He already doesn't want you._ Stiles heart seized and he yanked himself from the alphas arms. 

“Fine! If you don't want to just say so,” he snapped. “I'm not in the mood anymore, anyways.” If Chris wouldn't touch him now, then Peter would. He could wait for Peter. Peter never rejected him. 

“I didn't think you were in the mood to begin with.” Chris said. His arms hung in exasperated limpness at his side. Stiles felt a small tremble of guilt. He was clearly exhausted from work, with dark bags formed underneath his eyes. He worked long, hard days. “What's wrong with you? You look like you want to cry.” He didn't say it with any harshness, but Stiles still recoiled from the question. 

“There's nothing wrong with me!” Stiles shouted. “I'm fine! You're the one who's having an issue here. I just wanted to have sex but you're being too _selfish_!” Chris's face went from exhausted concern to flat out anger in less than a second. 

“Stiles!” Chris grabbed his wrist in a tight grip and pulled him back before the boy could storm off. The fingers around his skin were clasped with an almost bruising force. The alphas eyes were narrowed to dangerous points. “Tell me what's wrong. Now.”

“I don't want to tell you anything! Just because you're an alpha doesn't mean you get to bark orders at me all the time, asking me to do the impossible! You can't always have things your way Chris!” Stiles eyes started to swim again. “Sometimes things happen! Sometimes you don't get what you want because life sucks!” It just came out all at once. All his anger, all his hurt, poured from his mouth in a hateful burst. Chris's fingers tightened around his wrist. 

“I-!” Chris started, he looked about to yell. His face was red. A vein pulsed. He opened his mouth. Stiles waited for his anger to be returned. 

Then he stopped. He stopped very suddenly and absolutely. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Very slowly his fingers loosened around the omegas wrist, until he was holding him tenderly again. He rubbed his thumb over the soft, mole-dotted skin. 

“I,” he continued more slowly, opening his eyes. “I have had a very long day at work and I do not have the patience for your attitude right now. I am going to take a shower, and then we are going to _talk_. You might want to lose the attitude when I come back.” He gave him a firm look, one that said he wouldn't forget their conversation. “Maybe you should take a nap while I'm gone.” 

Then Stiles was released, the fingers disappearing from his wrist. Chris unzipped his jacket, revealing the white shirt underneath and walked towards the bathroom. The same bathroom Stiles spent an hour febreezing every day to rid it of his awful scent. He sniffled and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. 

He dragged his body towards the bedroom with a zombie-like shuffle. He felt more guilty then he ever thought humanely possible. He yelled at Chris when he hadn't deserved it, just for asking what was wrong. It wasn't Chris's fault he was feeling like a dud. It wasn't Chris's fault he probably _was_ a dud. 

He crawled onto the bed and grasped randomly onto one of the pillows. He shoved his face into it and wished he hadn't. It was Chris's pillow, it smelled heavily of him, of whiskey, of his masculine cologne. He lay there, unable to find the strength to push it away. He fumbled around for the second, identical pillow that smelled instead of Peter, and held them both close to his chest. 

He lay there in silence and let the pillows absorb his messy tears until he heard the shower stop running. A few minutes later the door creaked open, letting in a small stream of light. 

“Stiles?” Chris asked tentatively. “You still awake?” The weight of the bed shifted as Chris climbed onto it. Stiles ducked his head and pretended he wasn't. 

“I know you are. C'mon, we're talking.” 

“I don't want to talk.”

“I know you don't, that's why we have too.” Stiles sighed and rolled onto his back, keeping the pillow clutched to his chest. He looked at the ceiling and not at his alphas patiently waiting face. The back of his hand stroked lovingly down his cheek. It was still warm from the showers heat. Stiles leaned away from the touch. 

“You've hiding from us.” Chris said. He tried prying the pillow from the omegas hold. “You've been too tired to come to breakfast, you go to sleep before dinner. The rest of the time you hide yourself away in here with the lights off.” Stiles sniffed. A part of him was relieved his alphas knew better than to just accept his recent behavior, the other part of him was annoyed he hadn't been more convincing. “We love you. We want to help you. We can't do that unless you tell us what's wrong.” 

“I just don't feel very good,” Stiles said. It came out as a rasp, both his mouth and tongue felt like sandpaper after all the crying he'd done over the past few hours.

“Now I know that's not true. Yesterday when we tried to watch a movie Peter rubbed your belly and you jumped back and left.” Stiles grimaced. He remembered Peters hand pressing down over where a baby _should_ have been, softly caressing the area that wouldn't work. “You don't think we noticed that's not like you? You don't think we know that little about you, do you?”

“No,” Stiles sighed. Chris ran his hand through his hair. They were firm and calloused around the palm from holding and practicing with different types of weapons. Stiles wondered how many other people knew just how gentle those hands could be. 

“Still don't want to talk about it, hm?” Stiles shook his head. “I'm not leaving until you do.” 

Stiles barked a laugh. There was no humor in it. It was a dry, joyless sound. “Don't,” he said seriously, looking up at Chris with a dark gaze. “Don't leave _ever_. Not ever.”

“I don't plan to.” He meant it, too, and Stiles knew that. He knew Chris would always love him no matter what. He _felt_ that Chris was two steps out the door already. Even if it wasn't true, even if he'd have to be blind, deaf, and dumb, not to know that he still _felt_ it. As far as his heart was concerned both he, and Peter, were already gone, and his brain could have no say in the matter.

Stiles forced himself to sit up, to lay the pillow off to the side. He put his hands in his lap, and played with his thumbs, wondering how to start. Chris put his hand on his back and Stiles bit his lip. He didn't want to feel it leave in revulsion. He kept his eyes downcast, away from the loving, concerned looks of his alpha. 

Chris didn't play games or sugar coat his words, so he decided he shouldn't either. With a deep breath, he spoke. “I'm not pregnant, Chris.”

“Oh,” he could hear the mild surprise in his voice, followed by confusion and then fear. The hand on his back lightened but didn't pull away. “Were you . . .? I mean, did you . . . ? Was it-? Lost . . . somehow?” He said lost in an almost whisper. Stiles shook his head. The tears threatened him for what felt like the ninth time that day, only this time he hardly had any to shed. 

“No. There never _was_. I was _never_ pregnant. Ever. I'm so sorry.” Stiles regretted surrendering the pillow. His hands were desperate for something to grasp, so he grasped onto his own shirt. The guilt and self-hate piled on his lungs again, making it hard to breath. 

Chris took his hands and pulled them from their violent hold. One of his arms wrapped their way around his waist and pulled him up, onto his lap. Stiles didn't resist being pulled. He felt Chris press his lips against his forehead and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again the threatening droplets of water were already running down his cheeks, they did that so often they might as well have left a trail. 

“Shhhh.” Chris hushed. He was calm as he ever was. “Is that what you've been so upset about?” he spoke quietly into Stiles ear. Stiles nodded and curled in on himself as best he could. He wound up with his legs half tucked and his body supported heavily by Chris's chest.

“I don't know what's wrong. It's been like, what, two months? Three? I _should_ be pregnant by now but I'm _not_. Every other omega is. No one else has any problems. It's just _me_.” He couldn't look at Chris, couldn't look at him and tell him his omega was broken.

Even if he didn't seem all that upset he was good at stuffing down his feelings, ignoring his emotions. He would lie and say he felt fine, even if an arrow stuck out of his chest. Stiles knew, because he'd seen it happen. Seen him laugh as Peter drained his pain on the sofa. He could lie better than any of them; but his eyes couldn't. He'd see the pain, hurt, and sorrow fill them up until that was all that was left. 

Peter, well Peter was just an emotionally constipated asshole.

What was he going to tell _him_? Even if Chris forgave him Peter wouldn't. Peter was the one always nosing at his throat and demanding to know if he felt anything yet. Peter wanted it more than any of them. He was the one who suggested Stiles stop taking his control pills in the first place. 

He knew his fear was unjustified. Chris didn’t have a traitorous bone in his body, and Peter was a wolf, and wolves took pack seriously. But his role in this relationship was as the omega, the breeder, the one who made babies. 

“Stiles . . . Peter and I had a talk a little while ago. We thought since you had no signs of showing, or any heat symptoms that you decided to go back on your pills and not say anything about it. It was my assumption you didn't want a child anymore. Are you telling me you haven't been taking them? Your heat suppressants?” 

“What? No, no of course not. I swear to god. I've been trying as hard as I can, I just,” his hands clenched into a fist, a fist that Chris was once again eager to break apart. His free hand grabbed Stiles and worked his fingers so they lay flat. 

“Shhh,” he whispered again. “That's okay. Stiles, I'm going to ask you a question that I probably should have a long time ago- do _you_ want a baby? Did you ever want to have a baby?” His thumb brushed over his fingers. 

“Peter wants-” 

“That's not what I'm asking. Do you want a baby?” Chris hand left his and wiped some of the tears from Stiles eyes. Stiles lips quavered and he looked up at the alpha, finally meeting his gaze. He saw none of the revulsion, disgust, hate, or betrayal his mind forced him to think would be there. Instead he looked . . . remorseful, sad, maybe scared but with his stony, serious face it was hard to tell. 

“I don't know,” Stiles said, and it sounded so much like he was committing a crime. He was an omega, omegas were supposed to love children, strive for them, want to raise them. He just . . . didn't see the appeal of it. Maybe once the child was born he'd finally understand, except he might not even get the chance to _have_ one. He wanted one because Chris and Peter wanted one, and he wanted to make them happy in whatever way he could. “Omegas are supposed to want babies.” 

Chris sighed. “You of all people should know not every omega is the same. Omegas aren't supposed to want babies, it's just that most of them do. You don't have to be most. You're already not most.” His sentiment was accompanied by a soft, gentle kiss to the omegas forehead. 

Stiles pulled from it. “Peter's going to hate me,” he said, rocking back and forth. Chris tightened his arms around the boy. 

“No, he won't,” Chris reassured. “Do you know why Peter wants a baby? Why he's always so insistant to know exactly when you conceived?” 

“Because his sister has more than he does?” Chris smiled a weak smile and lovingly pressed a kiss to his forehead. “And he's jealous?” 

“No, but that's a good guess. Peter wants you to have his baby because he's jealous, but not of his sister. He's just a selfish asshole. Think about it, does Peter really seem like the fatherly type?” 

“Not really,” Stiles admitted. “But he loves his family. He loves us.” 

“Yes, he does love us.” Chris nodded. “But he's also a jealous asshole. He thinks if you have his kid it'll somehow make your bond to him more special than your bond to me.” Stiles rubbed his eyes on his sleeve and blinked. 

“That's stupid,” he muttered. “You and Peter love each other. I love him just as much as I love you.” 

“Just as stupid as thinking your mate wouldn't want you over something you can't control. We love you, too.” 

“Okay, I see what you're getting at.” Stiles leaned against Chris's chest and let the alpha stroke him softly through his hair. “B-but, still. It's what I'm here for. Omegas make babies. Everyone knows that.” 

Chris chuckled in a light way. “You're not here to make babies, you’re here to keep me from killing Peter,” Stiles couldn't help but let a small smile force it's way onto his face, “and to keep Peter from getting into too much trouble. When he comes home we're going to talk about this with him, okay?” Stiles lips trembled. 

“I don't want to.” 

“I know you don't, but it's important. Peter is still going to love you, and I'll bet he's going to feel like an ass for making you feel this way.” Stiles sniffled. 

“Okay,” Stiles relented. “You'll stay with me?” 

“I'll stay with you.” 

In the warm embrace of Chris' arms Stiles finally allowed his body to relax. He must have drifted off at some point because when he opened his eyes again it was dark out, and Peters car was just pulling into the driveway. His car was newer and quieter than Chris' trusty old SUV, but he still knew the sound like the back of his hand. He looked up at Chris for comfort. The alpha squeezed him tight and gave him a soft smile. 

Peter froze up the instant he set foot in the bedroom. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes flashing red in alarm. He took in the omegas crying eyes and Chris’s arms protectively wrapped around his shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened,” Chris said, rubbing small circles into Stiles back. The knot tightened in his stomach. He didn't want to look but he couldn't pull his eyes off Peters face. “Stiles is stressed out because he’s not pregnant yet. He’s worried he’s not capable of it.” Almost as an afterthought he added, “he hasn't been taking his pills.” 

“Oh,” Peter frowned deeply. His eyes melted from red to blue and a second later he was next to the pair on the bed. He pulled Stiles from Chris's lap to his, so his body was shared equally between the two alphas. Peter had never been much for comforting words, but the soft nuzzles he delivered onto Stiles throat conveyed his meaning. _I would still love you. I will always love you._

Stiles wrapped his arms around Peters throat and muttered a quick, watered-down apology. Peter said nothing for a while. He just kept his hands and face pressed against the omegas body and inhaled his scent.

“Hush, cub,” Peter whispered into his ear when he let out another shaky sob. “Hush.” He held him tight but Stiles didn't mind. The possessive grip was a reminder of how much Peter adored him, _him_ not his biology. 

Chris let them have their moment. He stayed quietly to the side while Stiles and Peter hugged and nuzzled, while Stiles shed the last droplets of water he had to give, and Peter grumbled his possessive, protective growls.

“I think,” he said, when the pair started to calm down again, “that we should make an appointment with Deaton just to be safe, alright? I don't care if you can have babies or not, but I'd rather make sure it's not anything too serious.” Stiles nodded. He moved his head up to wipe his eyes but Peter beat him to it, wiping away the tears with his thumb. 

They stayed in that position for a while, with Stiles on Peters lap, and Chris pressed as close to them as possible, his hand on Stiles back or his shoulder, wherever Peter wasn't aggressively scenting. 

When they went to bed Stiles was settled between them. It was tradition for him to lay on the side, pressed into Peter for warmth. Partly because Chris was a notorious blanket hog, and partly because Peter got jealous when the humans cuddled together without him. But instead they piled around him, with Peters hand on his side and Chris pressing his nose to the nape of his neck. Between them his worries, his fear, his insecurity melted away. His stomach still knotted in a dismayed twist of apprehension, but he knew no matter the outcome Chris and Peter weren't about to abandon him. 

Peter caressed his side with a smooth hand, uncharacteristically gentle as it dragged down his body. Behind him Chris breathed in his ear, his heartbeat a soothing rhythm against his back. 

“I love you,” Stiles whispered when all seemed too quiet. 

“I love you too,” they both whispered back. 

Stiles closed his eyes. Eventually and reluctantly he fell into the most peaceful sleep he'd had in weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles managed to wait five whole days, days that felt like months. His body and soul were only growing wearier with every passing second, only now he had Chris and Peters sympathetic glances and featherlight touches to deal with. It comforted him a little to have their hands on his body in such light, careful ways, but it also reminded him that he was broken and no one knew why. Sometimes he would catch them looking more than just sympathetic, but never when he was watching them. 

They were more disturbed by the situation then they let on, that he knew to be true. If he walked into a room too suddenly, or opened his eyes when they thought he was asleep, he'd see looks of fear and distress marring their features. The guilt of seeing them that way frayed his already tangled nerves to an unmanageable point. He couldn't help the way his fingers fidgeted and his eyes kept flicking to every little movement like a paranoid cat. He couldn't pretend to be happy, either. Not even to make them feel better. 

He could hardly leave the bed or stomach any food. Chris had some projects at work he couldn't get out of, but Peter stayed by his side day and night. The alpha kept trying to prompt him into eating by making pancakes, cookies, greasy fried foods, anything delicious he normally would have shoved into his mouth without question. He pushed each and every plate away. Sometimes he'd give it a courtesy nibble before discarding it in the trash. He didn't want these things in his body. It all smelled sour and weighed too heavily on his tongue. The amount of leftovers quickly overtook most of the shelf space in the fridge. 

It didn't take long for Peter to figure out that he simply wasn't going to eat on his own. On the fourth day he cut up an apple into small slices on a plate and curled up next to the young omega on the bed. He kissed the boy lightly on the forehead and put one of the apple slivers under his nose. Stiles dropped the book he'd been pretending to read onto his lap. He hadn't turned the page in over an hour. He blinked away the ever present tears that clouded his vision.

“You're not going to leave until I eat it, are you?” Stiles asked meekly. He could feel the bags forming underneath his eyes. 

“Not a chance, darling,” Peter said with a loving stroke through his hair. He turned the apple sliver over and pressed it into Stiles hand. With a resigned grimace Stiles took a miniscule bite out of the corner. It immediately settled wrong in his stomach. The tiny centimeter of fruit might as well have been a brick the way it made his intestines groan. Still, he continued to gnaw until it was gone. 

Peter kept his eyes trained on him like a hawk as he did. He waited patiently for him to finish the first piece before handing him the next. Stiles chewed up that one too. He half hoped that if he took long enough the wolf would get bored and leave him alone to dispose of the food in secrecy, but that didn't happen. It took him nearly an hour to finish everything on the plate. 

“Do you want another one?” Peter asked before planting a kiss against his mates temple. 

“I already regret eating the first.” Stiles drew his legs up to his chest and rested his head down on them. Peter set the plate against the nightstand and draped his arms around the omegas shoulders. 

“I know you do, but it'll help you get better.” He layered another line of kisses over Stiles cheek. “You need to eat, sweetheart.” 

“Fruits not going to fix it.” Stiles ducked his head away from him before Peter had a chance to renew kissing him elsewhere. _No one will be able to fix it. You're going to be broken forever._ an evil voice whispered inside. The light of Peters loving, sympathetic gaze quieted the cruel demon, but not completely. 

“Maybe not _it_ , no, but eating will make you feel better. I don't like seeing you so quiet and solemn all the time.” Peter grabbed him firmly and forced his head back into place where it could rest upon his collarbone. The alpha opened his mouth but instead of words a deep, melodic hum issued forth from between his lips.

“Thanks,” Stiles mumbled. The tune he heard was deep and calming, a soft and somber sound. It was the same song Peter always sang whenever he or Chris were sick or unable to fall asleep. As a habit his body started to melt into the alphas embrace. His shoulders untensed, his fingers released the blanket from their tight grip, and his toes uncurled. He closed his eyes and let the werewolves soft humming lull him under the quiet blanket of sleep.

* 

The day his appointment finally came Stiles felt dread rather than relief or hopefulness. He knew what all the tests would say, and he knew it wouldn't be good. He sat in the doctors office awaiting his results, with his hands clasped on his lap and Peter and Chris by his side. There were over the counter tests they could have taken, but Chris refused to buy them. He said if they were getting Stiles tested he wanted it done by a professional. For once in a blue moon the two alphas were in total agreement. Chris called out of work so he could be there, as did Peter. The two alphas each kept a protective hand on him at all times. Peter even snarled at an alpha in the waiting room when he looked at their little group for too long.

Deaton called them into their office with a friendly smile and a compassionate handshake. Stiles hand left a layer of nervous sweat on the doctors gloves, but the man didn't acknowledge it. He spoke to him softly as he explained what each test was, and how it would help find out what was wrong with him. 

Stiles didn't like it. He didn't like having everyone's eyes on him, watching for some sign of a freak out. He gulped and swallowed down the rapidly building anxiety that swelled in his heart. He didn't like the way Deaton pressed his cold hands all over his abdomen, feeling for what he called 'bumps' but what he actually meant was 'tumors,' or 'cysts.' He didn't find any. Stiles knew he wouldn't. He'd spent the past several weeks obsessing over the area. 

Chris held his hand tight while Stiles lay on the exam table. It was a little overwhelming being underneath the bright lights, the stares, the confused and concerned expressions of those in the room. 

“Have you ever experienced a natural heat before?” Deaton asked in the same soft tone he'd used throughout the visit, even when he asked how their weekend was and what insurance they used. Stiles couldn't bring himself to look him in the eyes. He looked over at Peter who crouched next to him. The wolf let out a low, reassuring grumble. Stiles winced when the doctor pressed down a little too hard on his belly. Peters head whipped up, his lips curled back over his fangs in a soundless snarl. 

“Uhm . . . when I was younger? I think fourteen or fifteen after I hit puberty. Right after that I started taking pills so not since then, no.” Chris ran his calloused fingers through Stiles hair. Stiles found himself leaning into the touch. His heart hurt with the pain that he might have done something to cause these issues to himself. “W-would the pills I was taking-?” He risked looking away from Peter. 

The doctor shook his head. “No. I'm just getting a frame of reference. Those pills aren't known to cause any issues once they're out of your system.” 

“Oh,” Stiles didn't know if he was relieved or if it just made matters worse. At least if the pills had been the cause it would have meant there was a reason for all of this, that the situation would have been preventable, not just some cruel twist of fate. It wouldn't have been his fault. 

Deaton left after he took a small sample of blood. Stiles sat up and Peter helped him put his shirt back on over his head. He really didn't need the help, but it comforted Peter to be in control of whatever he could, and right now he was just as tense as the omega. He insisted on holding Stiles prisoner on his lap while they waited for Deaton to return. Stiles found he didn't mind the captivity. 

The doctor returned twenty minutes later. His eyes were dark and sympathetic. Stiles stomach dropped like a rock. He'd been around hospitals and police officers long enough to know that look from a mile away, it meant bad news, it meant pain, it meant things no one wanted to hear. Deatons mouth was a tight, straight line, his shoulders were even, but his fingers were gripping the clipboard tight. He was doing everything in his power to not look upset, and it showed. 

“I’m sorry, Stiles.” 

Stiles let out a low whine. He didn’t need to ask what for. Peters arms wrapped tighter around his waist. “The chemicals your body would need to make a child . . . they just aren't there. The possibility of you ever being able to conceive is very low.”

“Why?” Chris asked before anyone else could respond. He was always the calm one in situations like these. The tell-tale tremble of his hands, fisted firmly into Peters shirt let them know he was upset, even if he wasn’t good at expressing it. He hated seeing that look on Chris's face, not angry just sad and afraid. He layered it behind a wall of stoic stares and even breaths, but it was still there. 

Stiles reached up and let his fingers gently brush against Chris's white-knuckled fist, grasping onto Peters shirt like a life preserver. The gesture made his eyes flicker towards the omega, and his fingers unclenched themselves. As miserable as Stiles was for himself he felt even worse for dragging them into it. He felt even worse for the way Chris looked at him like it was somehow their fault and not his. Chris patted his hand softly. 

“His body just isn’t producing what he needs. It could just be stress, it might be something more serious, or it could just be the way he was born.” Peters nose ran over the top of Stiles head, disheveling his already disheveled hair. The arms wrapped around his waist squeezed him lightly. “If we're lucky he was just born without them, and he's perfectly fine otherwise. I have a few guesses about what might be going on, but we'll need some additional tests to be sure.” 

“So what now?” 

“Now, I send off samples of Stiles blood and we wait for the results to come back. If it’s something more serious then we’ll know within a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks?” Stiles choked out. “I have to wait that long to find out why I’m broken?” 

“You’re not broken,” Peter growled in his ear. He nipped lightly at his skin. “You're _mine_.” He said it as if it were actually an explanation. 

“There are lots of omegas out there who have trouble conceiving.” Deaton said, looking down at his clipboard. For the first time Stiles noticed it contained a handful of brightly colored pamphlets. “The community center in Mulligan holds a support group every month if you'd be interested in joining? I could find out the details for you.” Stiles bit his lip and stuck his head into the space between Peters throat and his collarbone. An evil thought in his head told him that if they can't breed properly, then they aren't omegas. He knew it was a hateful, evil, thought, but it was the one that popped into his head.

There was silence while they all waited for him to respond. When he didn't Chris spoke for him. 

“We'll look into it. We just need some time to process all of this.” 

Chris and the doctor spoke a little bit more about what he should watch out for in the coming weeks, other signs that would indicate Stiles needed to be hospitalized. In a hushed tone Deaton mentioned that he was on the borderline of being underweight. 

On their way out the door Deaton gave them three pamphlets, the first being information for the support group, the second on grief, and the third on surrogacy. Stiles glanced over the covers before dumping them all in the trash as soon as they were out of the building. He heard Chris scoop down and pick them up. Peter had one hand around the omegas wrist, tugging him along gently but assertively towards the car. 

He wormed out of Peters grasp when the car came into view. He skipped ahead a few steps and yanked the door open to the backseat of the vehicle and climbed in, slamming it shut before either alpha had a chance to follow. Begrudgingly Peter took the hint and got into the passenger side. He heard Chris take his place in the drivers seat. 

Stiles bundled himself up with his legs drawn up to his chest, cramming himself against the window. He leaned his head against the cool glass and closed his eyes. He felt nauseous. At least know he knew what it _wasn't_ from. A myriad of disjointed thoughts plagued his mind. 

Someone – probably Chris – put a box of tissues by his feet. Stiles kicked them to the floor. He was so sick of crying. He felt like his entire body was made of sandpaper and tsunamis. Whenever all the tears were finally gone his eyes would fill and they'd be back again. The worst was that he couldn't even bring himself to feel angry. He regretted kicking the tissue box and picked it up, setting it down by his side again. 

Chris and Peter looked back at him but said nothing. Chris put the car into drive and peeled out of the parking lot. 

“How am I going to tell my dad he’s never going to have any grandchildren?” Stiles asked about ten minutes later. He thought of what a wonderful father John had always been to him, how caring and understanding he'd been, despite all the challenges he put him through. They had their rough patches but at the end of the day they loved each other because they were family. Because of _him_ there would be no more family. Stiles swallowed back another threatening burst of tears. John didn't deserve to have such a terrible son. He was a good parent, he deserved grandchildren, and great grandchildren. His mother deserved the same. He winced at the memory of his mother. 

“Tell him that you're all the child he needs,” Peter was quick to say, he looked into the backseat of the car. “Think of all the money we'll save on condoms and college funds.” 

“We weren't saving money on condoms to begin with,” Stiles muttered. The joke didn't make him feel any better, but for once he was actually glad that Peter couldn't take anything seriously. It made the situation feel just a little less like the end of the world, because if Peter wasn't serious than nothing was. It was when Peter gave answers, actual, serious answers, that he got scared. 

“You want to get some ice cream?” Chris asked with a forced nonchalance. 

Stiles ignored him. Ice cream was the last thing on his mind. 

“. . . Stiles?”

“Yes?” 

“Do you want to go get some ice cream?” 

“Not really. No.” He felt so nauseous the thought of putting sugar into his body was enough to make him gag a little.

“Do you want to go see a movie? I think there's one of those superhero ones in theaters right now. I still have the rest of the day off, if you want to do something?” 

“No.” 

“Do you want go to to the zoo and look at all the animals?” 

“No.” 

“Do you want to-” 

“Do you want me to punch Chris in the face?” Peter snarked. Even without being able to see him Stiles could tell he was making a rude face at Chris. He also knew that Chris was probably responding with a creative gesture of his own involving his middle finger. 

“No.” Stiles lips lifted, just a tiny bit. It was a relief to know his face hadn't actually forgotten how to form a smile, even if it was reluctant to do so. 

“Are you sure? I'd do it for you. Even if it pained me. You know a broken nose never looks the same again, but for you- I'd do it. I'd punch the entire Argent family in the face for you. Only when provoked, of course,” he added when Chris gave him another look. 

“Not while I'm driving,” Chris sighed. “If anyone's getting punched we'll pull over and do it properly. Assuming you actually managed to hit me.” There was an unspoken challenge there. 

“ _Oh_ , I could-” 

“I don’t want you to hurt Chris,” Stiles said, with more humor in his voice then they’d heard all week. It ended with his next sentence. “I already hurt him.” Chris sighed. 

“No, you didn’t.” 

“Okay.” 

They drove in silence the rest of the way home. Stiles saw the pamphlets sticking out of the pocket on the drivers side door. He almost asked Chris if he could look at one of them, but shied away from the idea. His eyelids were heavy as they approached the house and all he wanted was to curl up in bed. Everything that had happened was starting to take its toll on him. It came in the form of a sudden and overwhelming exhaustion that slumped his shoulders and forced his eyes to close. 

He fell asleep to the sound of Peter fiddling with the radio and Chris chastising him for it. 

A short while later he was awoken by the car coming to a halt. He got out groggily stumbled for the door. As soon as he was back inside the house he made a straight beeline for the bedroom. His alphas followed close behind. 

He climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up over his head. He wrapped the sheets tightly around his body and curled up like a caterpillar, safe in his fabric cocoon. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the rest of the world. Peters hands were on his back in an instant. He knew it was Peters because they were too warm and too demanding. 

“Come out.” Peter demanded. The blanket started to tug away from him. Stiles gripped it tighter and held on fast to it. 

“Leave him alone, Peter.” He heard Chris say. His voice was muffled behind the layers of cloth.

“No, I want him to come out.” Still Peter released his hold on the blanket. “I want to see him.”

“Let him sleep. He needs to sleep.” Stiles closed his eyes. The last few nights had helped but he still hadn't caught up on his sleep deficit yet, even the quick car nap left him feeling more exhausted than well-rested. He was eager to return to the realms of deep sleep. Mostly he was lying down to avoid reality, but if he could pass blissfully into unconsciousness for a few hours he wasn't about to oppose. 

“But I _want_ -” Peter growled. 

“Let. Him. Sleep.” There was a quick exchange of growls. 

“Fine.” Peter relented. “But I'm not letting him do it alone.” 

“I never said you had too.” Stiles was suddenly shifted forward, cocoon and all. The pillow he'd laid his head down on was replaced with what felt like Peters thigh. A hand tucked itself into his nest and stroked his brunette hairs back softly. Stiles sniffled and leaned into the touch, feeling the wet strain of tears in his eyes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the title so sorry if that confused anyone! Thank you all for your nice kudos and comments n.n


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles woke with a shuddering breath that curled his toes and made his body clench up tight. His insides were cold and empty, but his outside was warm. He was no longer wrapped up in his cocoon, instead he found himself laying on Peters naked collarbone. Chris's arms were wrapped around his waist.

A loud beep startled him, but not as badly as Chris. The alphas arms gripped him tight for a second. Then they slid away from his body. He heard the alarm clock being slammed off before the noisy machine could blare a second time. With a discontented huff Chris returned his hands to the omegas hips. He pressed his nose to the top of Stiles head. The omega tried to roll over and face him, but Peters legs kept him pinned in his position. The wolves version of cuddling was more like an aggressive bear hug, with just as much sniffing and snuffling as one might expect. 

Stiles furrowed his brow. It wasn't like Chris to ignore the alarm clock. Normally he woke up at the first beep, took a shower, ate breakfast, made coffee, and was out the door within forty-five minutes. It wasn't like him to go back to cuddling so eagerly. He also wasn't one to initiate cuddling in the first place. More often that not it was Peter who pulled the omega into the bed or onto his lap. Chris never refused a good cuddle session, but he didn't seek them out either.

Peter was a little slower in the morning, needing at least three, drawn-out beeps before he finally dragged himself out of bed. He took his time preparing breakfast and making his coffee. Months ago Stiles would have woken with him and enjoyed whatever he'd cooked before he went off to work. Stiles didn't have any formal job and most of his classwork took place online, so he was the last of the three to leave the homestead. Nevertheless he insisted on keeping his faithful jeep, even if it took up most of the space in the garage and was only used sparingly. 

The second time the alarm sounded Chris resentfully peeled himself away from the omegas body, Stiles blinked the sleep from his eyes and turned around as best he could without disturbing the restful were beside him. Chris rubbed his eyes and looked down at him. 

“Go back to sleep, Stiles,” he whispered. “I'll be back in a little while, okay?” Stiles nodded. A pang of anxiety hit him deep beneath his rib cage. _Why wouldn't he be back?_ The idea of him not returning made his shoulders tense. 

“I love you,” Chris said as he leaned down and planted a kiss on Stiles mouth. 

“I love you, too,” Stiles said in a cracked voice as Chris pulled away. Peter grumbled something in his sleep and held the human boy tighter. Chris got up and got dressed with the lights still turned off. As he left the room he hovered in the doorway and cast a glance back at the dreary pair on the bed. He looked at Stiles with a soft smile and waved, letting the door shut behind him as he went. 

Stiles felt the ghost of Chris's lips still on his mouth and hoped the feeling wouldn't leave. He pressed his head against Peters and melted into the alphas restrictive hold. 

“Peter, you're going to be late for work,” he mumbled a little while later when the clock turned to seven, and still Peter hadn't risen. The wolf had shifted their positions so Stiles was settled more into the crook of his arm, half laying on his naked chest. 

“Shh, it's okay cub. Go back to sleep.” The sky was tinted indigo and carrying an early morning chill in through the open window. He pressed his face into Peters throat, inhaling his musky scent. 

“You're going to get fired because of me,” he complained but made no effort to move or free himself. He knew Peter was going to be late to work, but was selfish enough to not to press harder. 

“No, I'm not.” Peter grumbled. He creaked an eye open and looked at the omega, glancing briefly at the alarm clock. Stiles waited patiently for him to claw his way back to wakefulness. He liked when Peter was sleepy, because sleepy Peter was a softer Peter. He was also as notoriously hard to wake up as Chris was to steal a blanket from. “I took some days off of work. 'Is fine,” he slurred out. 

“Nooo,” Stiles protested. “You can't just stop working.” His mind reeled at the thought. “Not because of me.” Any trace amounts of sleepiness left in his brain disappeared as he thought of Peter and Chris, stuck at home and miserable because they were stuck at home with their infertile omega. The one who couldn't do the simplest thing his biology was designed for. A stab of guilt made his head reel. 

“'M not. Chris'll be here too, once he's finished his last few consultations.” Peter yawned, removing his arm from around Stiles shoulders to stretch. He arched his back up, letting the blanket fall from his chest down to his hips. Stiles gathered the misplaced blanket – still warm from Peters body heat - and cuddled it to his stomach.

“Don't make that face at me,” Peter cautioned when he saw the trembling-lipped expression.. “It's just a little time off. We have vacation days for a reason.”

“Some vacation,” Stiles snorted and looked away. “Helping your dud omega get over his-” 

Peter snarled. He pulled Stiles chin up so they were looking into each others eyes. “Stop calling yourself that. I don't want to hear that word again. You are _not_ a dud you are _mine_.” Stiles tried to pull away but the firm hand kept him in place. 

“Fine,” Stiles relented. “I'll stop saying it. You try not to get fired.” He expected Peter to argue with him, or growl, or roll over and face the other way. He didn't expect the hand keeping him still to gently release and cup his cheek instead. Peters eyes softened at him. He pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his lips. 

“I hope I do,” he admitted. “Then I'll have more time to stay here and spend with you.” The hand that he'd wrapped around Stiles shoulders slid out from underneath him and wormed through the layers of blanket to press against his stomach. It was warm but it still sent a shiver through Stiles body. 

“D-don't,” Stiles said with a wince. He moved backwards. Peter kept his hand where it was. 

“When's the last time you've eaten? You feel thin.” He pressed down a little. 

Stiles sat up with a jerking motion to force the hand from his body. He let the blanket fall away, exposing his horridly empty stomach. Peter followed his movement and sat up beside him. He hovered over the omega, like a cat about to pounce on a rabbit. Peters nose pressed into the side of his cheek. He nuzzled his jawline until Stiles decided to speak. 

“You watched me eat the apples.” 

“That was barely anything. What else?” 

“I ate yesterday, while you and Chris were sleeping. I got up and made a sandwich with the leftover lunch meat.” He tapped his fingers over his knee and leaned away from the hand that wrapped around his waist. 

Peter gave a very disappointed sigh. “You know, there's this funny little trait most people have; when they lie they add lots of little, pointless details that don't effect the story at all. It's been proven time and time again, that the more minor details someone includes, the greater the chance they're lying.

“I didn't ask you _what_ you'd eaten, I asked when. You're heart's even blipping all over the place. Want to try me again?” Stiles didn't need to look at him to know he was raising a brow. “When was the last time you've eaten, excluding the apples?” 

He slumped defeatedly against the headboard. “Eating just makes me feel nauseous. okay? Happy?”

“Yes, I love when you starve yourself. How long has this been going on?” 

“A while, I guess?” 

“You guess?” 

“Maybe a few weeks or so. It just seemed like too much effort to actually get out of bed and make something, and now when I try I feel sick.” He fiddled with his thumbs on his lap, keeping his gaze solidly out the window and not on Peters disapproving face. 

The weight of the bed shifted as Peter stood, stretching his hand out to Stiles. He looked at it, and then up at his alpha. 

“What?” 

“C'mon. We're going to have breakfast.” 

“I really don't feel like it, Peter.”

“Eating is not contingent upon you feeling like it.” Stiles ducked his head at the admonishment and picked at the blanket, refusing to look at his alpha. A little softer Peter added, “I just don't want you getting sick, Stiles.”

“Okay,” Stiles said. Reluctantly he took the alphas hand and allowed himself to be pulled up onto his feet. His shoulders sagged as he stood, a full nights rest could only restore so little of his lost energy. 

Peter led him into the kitchen and pushed him down in the chair. He promptly folded his arms and laid his head down on the table. He watched as Peter pulled out a pan and some eggs and set them on the counter. He cringed at the sight of them.

A spider of thought from the back of his brain crawled to the forefront. “I need to call Scott,” Stiles said, lifting his head a little. Peter looked back at him.

“If you must,” he said with unhidden distaste. He never liked Scott very much. Probably because Scott had once been Stiles alpha instead of him. It was a purely sibling relationship, but Peter never cared. All he cared about was that there had been one point in time where Scott had more authority over Stiles than he did, and he resented him for it. 

Stiles slid out of the chair and went back to the bedroom. He longed to just lay his body back down on the comforter and fall asleep, maybe even forever. Instead he fumbled around on the night stand for his phone. The battery was half dead, he hadn't even bothered checking the device the past few days. It didn't ring more than twice before Scott picked up. 

“Stiles?” Scott breathed. He sounded so hopeful. _Good, more people to disappoint_. “Hey. How are you? How'd the appointment go?” 

“Not good,” Stiles said, leaning back against the headboard and running his hand through his hair. The words rushed from his mouth like a waterfall. The sooner he said it the sooner it was over with. “The doctor – Deaton – he said that my bodies just not making the chemicals it should. He said we won't know for a few weeks if it's something serious, or just stress, or just me being . . . .” he searched for a word that wouldn't make him sound broken, but there was none he could think of. “Just me being . . . not right.” His voice shook as he spoke. Somehow hearing those words from his own mouth was so much worse than hearing them from the clinicians. “I can't have babies.” 

He could hear Scotts breath catch on the other end. Stiles almost wished he were right next to him, instead of on the other side of the country. He wanted to bury himself into the familiar arms of his brother. “Oh, Stiles Are you okay?” he asked softly. 

“No. Didn't you hear what I just said? I'm broken, and Deaton can't tell me why.” Another painful thought came to him. “What if _everything_ in me is broken?” He thought of his anxiety attacks, his poor physical health, his infertility . . . the bad definitely outweighed the good. 

“I'm sure that isn't the case, and if it is we'll figure something out. We always do.” He knew on the other end of the phone Scott was giving one of his 'everything is okay' smiles only appeared when everything wasn't. Stiles sniffled and wiped at his nose. After a moments pause Scott resumed, “how are Chris and Peter reacting?” 

“They aren't. They haven't said anything about it. They just keep asking me if I want stuff. Peter stayed home from work today. I think Chris is coming home soon. He was weird this morning. He kept looking back at me like he didn't want to leave.” He pulled his knees up to his chest and laid his head down on top of them. In the kitchen he could hear pots and pans clattering together. The tempestuous smell of cooking food drifted in from under the doorway. 

“Good.” Scott sounded relieved. 

“Good? They're missing work because of _me_.” Stiles grabbed the pillow and wedged it between his knees and his chest, just so he'd have something to knead into. 

“No, they're missing work _for_ you. That's a pretty big difference. I wish I could be there for you too. If I weren't with Kira . . . ” Scott sighed. He'd moved to New York to be with her and her family, the distance wasn't easy on their friendship but Stiles let him go without protest; it still stung when he watched him get on the plane. “If you need me to come down there-?” 

“No,” Stiles shook his head. “I don't need everyone dropping their lives for me.”

“But you know all of us would, right?”

“I know.” He let out another small sniffle into his hand. He knew Scott would hear it either way, but he still tried to hide it behind his sleeve. Part of what made Scott such a wonderful alpha was his ability to care and care so much that everyone else started to care too. Peter always hated that about him. Maybe because it reminded him of Talia.

_Talia._

Stiles lips trembled as another intrusive thought invaded his mind. He dug his nails deep into the pillow. 

“Scotty? What if . . . what if Peters pack doesn't approve of me? What if they want him to leave me for a breedable omega? Why would they want an omega in their pack who can't . . . _help_ the pack? What if they want Peter to-?”

“They won't,” Scott reassured. “You're already part of the pack, and you're worth far more than a child or two. Besides, Peter would-” the door cracked open behind him. 

“-Peter would think you're rather stupid, if you ever thought I'd let her take you away from me.” From behind a pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around his body and pulled him close. The bed shifted weight as Peter leaned down on it. He softly kissed Stiles cheek and purred in his ear. “Even if I loved her, even if we got along, I still wouldn't abandon you. I'd sooner be feral.” 

“Sounds like you have your answer,” Scott chuckled awkwardly on the other end of the phone. “Hello, Peter.” 

“Scott,” Peter said dryly. He leaned his head down on Stiles shoulder, nuzzling his jugular vein. 

“Take good care of him, okay?” 

“I always do.” Peter gently pried the phone from Stiles fingers and clicked the disconnect button. Stiles let himself be turned around so he was facing the alpha. He was glad Peter had stayed home with him, otherwise he'd probably be packing his things in preparation for the inevitable abandonment. 

“You're being irrational, you know that?” 

Stiles nodded and wiped at his eyes again. “I can't stop thinking,” he admitted. It was one of his many, many, flaws. 

“Then let me think for you. Come get breakfast.” Peter looked deep into Stiles brown eyes and Stiles starred back. He'd heard Chris once describe Peters eyes as being 'icy and cold' but they weren't. Peters eyes weren't warm, but they weren't unwelcome either. They were the color of sky after a storm. _After_ the storm. He saw calm in them. Calm and cleverness and reality. He'd never been known for his honesty, but then neither had Stiles. 

Wordlessly Peter helped him up from the bed and led him into the kitchen by his arm. He sat down in his usual spot and Peter placed a plate in front of him. He grimaced at the sight of two runny eggs touching the edges of his toast. He wondered if it was really just a coincidence Peter chose that to make for breakfast. The evil part of his brain said that it wasn't. The part that didn't like to torture him reminded that at one point eggs had been his favorite food. Before all the nasty associations became a part of them.

An entire carton of orange juice joined the plate in front of him. Stiles trembling lips almost formed a smile. Chris and Peter always got after him for drinking straight from the carton. Eventually they just started buying him his own. His name was scribbled on the side in Peters flourished handwriting. 

“Eat,” demanded Peter. “Or I'll shove it down your throat myself.” That kind of threat usually prompted some sort of lewd joke from Stiles mouth, but today the thought to make one barely even registered. He gave a weak smile and picked up one of the pieces of toast. He picked at the corner with his fingernails and popped it into his mouth. Even the tiny piece he'd chosen slid down like a rock. Peter nodded approvingly and sat down beside him. 

Stiles continued to eat at a slow pace, just picking at the bread and avoiding the eggs entirely. He didn't want to even look at them. He just held the bread in his hand and continued to pick. 

“Stiles. Eat your eggs.” Peter nudged the plate closer to him. 

Stiles cringed. “I don't want e-eggs.” His tongue stumbled over the word. Peter looked at him for a long minute. Then he picked up Stiles plate and carefully scrapped the two, now cold pieces onto his own dish. Then he set it back down in front of Stiles and placed his toast where they had been.

“There, now eat,” he insisted. He pinched off a corner of the bread with his claws and held it out for the omega to take. Stiles accepted it hesitantly. The piece was much bigger than what he wanted. He wrinkled his nose and stuck it in his mouth anyways. As soon as he swallowed Peter offered him up another. Stiles swallowed that one too, but rejected the third with a shake of his head. 

“Okay, I ate,” he slid the plate away from him. “Can I please go back to bed now?” Peter dropped the half eaten slice onto the dish. 

“No. You just woke up-” he checked the time on his phone “-less than an hour ago. If you still want to sleep we can take a nap around noon, okay?” 

“But I'm tired _now_ ,” he clenched his fork tight in his hand. 

“Yeah? You wouldn't be if you'd been eating enough. C'mon, get up. We're going into the living room.” Stiles hardly had the energy to argue as Peter gently brought him to his feet again and led him to the living room, leaving their plates on the table. That wasn't like him. Peter was a neat freak, and especially so about leaving food out.

He sat onto the sofa with his legs up and pulled Stiles down with him, settling the boy in the space between the sofa and his chest. 

“I thought you said we weren't napping.” 

“We're not. We're going to finish the movie we didn't get to finish the other night when you left.” 

Stiles sighed. “Peter, I don't want to watch a movie.” Peter didn't answer him, he just searched around on the end table for the remote and clicked on the television. Stiles slumped against him. He rested his head down on wolves familiar collarbone and watched the screen. It started from somewhere in the middle, he couldn't remember what the plot was. 

“You guys didn't finish it?”

“No, we only picked it because we thought you would like it.” 

“Why?” Stiles asked with a mirthless smile. 

“Because, you've been sort of . . . strange, lately. You think we didn't notice, but we did.” Peters hand left his waist and drifted up to knead lightly at the nape of his neck. His blunt fingernails scratched at the skin and Stiles found himself reflexively pushing back into the touch. “You've been moodier, aggressive, even when we had sex you didn't seem like you were enjoying it at all.” Peter grimaced. “You should have just told me. We could have taken care of you a lot sooner. _I_ would have taken care of you.” 

“You're not supposed to take care of me,” Stiles whined, and he knew he sounded like a child. I'm . . . this isn't how it's supposed to be.” He looked up at the wolf. Peter looked back down at him and gave the nape of his neck a light squeeze. 

“Since when have you ever done things the way they were supposed to be? You know, in most alpha-omega relationships, the alphas take care of the omega. Not the other way around.” Stiles sighed, there was truth in his words. They were about as conventional as a frying pan made of wood, but they worked, somehow. 

He looked away from his mates penetrating glance to avoid having to answer. He spied a familiar pink pamphlet resting underneath the remote control. _Dealing with grief_ was printed on the front in periwinkle letters. The face of a sad woman starred at him from the cover. 

“What's that doing in here?” Stiles asked. 

“Hm?” 

“That,” Stiles pointed. “That pamphlet. What's it doing in here? Chris didn't bring it inside. I remember. He left it in the car.” 

“I brought it inside,” Peter said simply. “After you fell asleep. I wanted to read it.” 

Stiles wormed out of Peters awkward embrace and grabbed the paper On the inside cover was a small, numbered list. 

“'Step number one,” Stiles read out loud, “make sure your grieving partner is eating.” He couldn't find it within himself to glare, but he did cross his arms over his chest and lean back against the sofa. 

“Is it so bad that we want to take care of you, Stiles?” Peter asked, sitting up. 

“No, it's bad that you have to take care of me in the first place.”

“Can't you drop your guard for once? Can't you just relax and let someone else be in control? You' know that's what alphas are for- to be in control so you don't have to.” 

“Societal dynamics are bullshit,” Stiles grumbled. 

The wolf laughed. “I'm glad to hear you say that. Does that mean you've gotten over your ridiculous opinion that omegas are meant to have children?” Stiles winced and bit his lip. “Or do you believe in them more than you let on?” 

The omegas expression softened. He let the pamphlet drop onto the floor as Peter pulled him into a tight hug and laid him back down on the sofa. Stiles wrapped his arms around the wolf and stuck his head underneath his chin. 

“Sing a song for me,” he requested quietly with a sniff. 

“No one ever wants to hear me sing,” Peter complained dryly. “I'm a wonderful singer.” 

“I know, that's why I asked. Please don't make me regret it.” 

Peter chuckled. He started to sing a soft, quiet song, directly into Stiles ear. All the while he brushed his hair back, letting his fingers intertwine with the brunette mess. Stiles pressed closer to him, burying his nose in Peters shirt, relishing in the smell of his cologne and his presence. The smooth melody lulled him back into the peaceful respite that was sleep. He wasn't sure if he actually fell or not, but his body twitched when he heard the sound of the living room door opening and closing. Peters melodic voice paused only momentarily, before he continued with his singing and the gentle petting.

Stiles sniffed and turned around to see Chris walk in carrying a greasy bag of takeout food. It was from a fast food place down the street, a place Chris and Peter both despised for being too messy and too cheesy. At least, that's what they said right before they each snuck a couple fries from his plate. 

“I brought you your favorite,” Chris said, looking at the restful pair. His eyes were dark, a few of his hairs stuck out on the top. He looked like he hadn't slept in a while. 

“Peter already made me eat,” he said. “I'm not hungry.” The warm, salty stench of poorly fried food tickled his nostrils. He turned his head away and nosed into Peters throat. At the moment, he preferred the smell of the wolves cedar aftershave to anything else, except maybe Chris. 

“All you had was toast,” said Peter. “You should eat what Chris brought you.”

Stiles hesitated. His stomach was feeling a little more peckish than usual, but the thought of breaking his embrace with Peter made him feel something worse. 

“I don't want too. Not right now. I'll have it later, okay?” 

“Okay?” Chris said, setting the bag down on the coffee table. “If you promise you'll eat it.” Apparently he'd also read the pamphlet. Stiles closed his eyes and nuzzled Peters throat. The wolf squeezed his waist.

“I promise.” 

“What have you two gotten up to today?” his voice was carefully light, unintrusive. 

“Well, we were trying to watch a movie, but Stiles insists on napping. Rather, I was trying to watch a movie. Stiles kept whining about sleep.”

“I maintain my decision.” He knew Chris would end up siding with whatever he wanted to do. That was just the way things worked between them. It helped that he had a natural penchant for arguing with Peter. 

“Okay,” Chris said. “Napping it is, I guess.” Stiles moved his knees up to his chest to make room for Chris on the sofa. Peter shifted his weight, allowing Chris to settle down beside them. “Here,” he held his arms out for Stiles. 

“No,” Peter said. 

“No?” 

“No. You always get the good Stiles bits, and I always get the feet. I want the good Stiles bites,” he hugged Stiles closer and tighter. The young omega felt like a jealously guarded teddy bear. A much loved, but broken teddy bear. 

Chris grunted his annoyance and pulled Stiles legs across his lap. “You got to stay home with him all day.” 

Peter shrugged. “It isn't my fault you're a workaholic and missed out on some quality Stiles time.” 

“Oh, forgive me for not getting my job from _my sister_.” 

“Forgive _me_ for not being from a family of sociopaths.” 

“No, you're the only sociopath in your family.” 

Peter scoffed.

Stiles didn't care that they were fighting, much less that their fight had started over him. Right now it felt good to hear them bicker, because bickering was normal. Bickering meant everything was okay. He wanted everything to be normal and okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the likes, kudos, and comments! They do not go unappreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

The first week Peter and Chris stayed home Stiles felt like a zombie. He followed them around from room to room, doing whatever it was they wanted, but his heart wasn't in it. They watched movies that he normally liked, but now they just made him feel guilty. They cooked food they thought he would eat, but his stomach churned at the sight of it. They said things to cheer him up but all he could manage was a weak, flickering smile. The urge to cry never really left, but he had no more tears to shed. Every so often a lone droplet would escape, but he was quick to wipe it away before they saw. Peter could smell it on his cheeks, Chris could see it in his red-rimmed eyes but they just carried on the day as though everything were normal. 

Peter insisted he wear his clothing. Though they were about the same height he was much skinnier – especially in recent months – and his sweatshirts hung loosely off his shoulders and pooled in bunches around his stomach. He didn't mind being swamped in the werewolves clothes, especially not since Peter had taken the liberty of over scenting everything they owned. Even his pants draped over his feet and made it difficult for him to walk without the gait of a small, stumbling child. 

He sat at the window, holding a mug of hot chocolate Chris prepared for him. It was sea salt and caramel, from an expensive candy store downtown. The entire week he kept plying Stiles with random gifts like candy, hot chocolate, comic books, DVDs, anything that might lift his spirits or distract him. Stiles would accept the presents with a 'thank you' and give them a cursory glance so as not to hurt the alphas feelings. He could tell that Chris thought one day he'd find something that would pull Stiles from his slump.

He nursed his cocoa quietly. The drink had long since gone cold. 

“You didn't even drink half of it,” Chris said. Stiles looked over at him. Both alphas were watching him with a quiet expression that made him duck his head. 

“Sorry,” he muttered weakly, looking back out the window. The rain pattered lightly against the glass, a fitting image for his mood. 

“I don't like seeing you this way,” Chris said mournfully. “Do you want to go downtown, to that comic book store you like? I'll buy you whatever you want.” It was a poor attempt at consolation, but at least an attempt was made. Peter just kept trying to shove food into his mouth. 

“Buying me things won't make me feel better, Chris.”

“What if I bought you a puppy? The biggest, fluffiest puppy?” 

Stiles almost smiled. “That won't make me feel better either,” he sighed. “You'd want a German Shepherd anyways, I know you. An old, gray-muzzled, German Shepherd. You don't have the patience for a puppy.” 

“You're right.” Chris moved from the couch where Peter had boggarted the pillows, and the throw blanket. “I already have my hands full dealing with one uncontrollable mutt,” he motioned towards Peter who gave a half-hearted growl. Chris sat down on the armrest of the overstuffed chair Stiles was in. He put his arm around the omegas shoulders. 

“What would make you feel better?” 

Stiles leaned against him. “I don't know? Time? That's what it says in all those recovery books you brought home the other day. I know you stay up late to read them. I can feel you leave the bed, and I can hear the pages turning in the living room.” Chris's face turned guilty. “You know, underneath the sofa cushions really isn't a good hiding spot when we spend most of our time there. “I'm no 'princess and the pea' but I can definitely feel a bestseller underneath the cushions.” He wrinkled his nose as he starred down into his mug. 

“I'm not going to apologize for being concerned about you.” 

Stiles said nothing in response. He took another minuscule sip of his cold hot chocolate. 

“You know how much Peter and I both love you,” the alpha continued. “How do we get you to love yourself again?”

“If I knew the answer to that I'd tell you.” Stiles shrugged. “I just need time.” 

“Alright,” Chris nodded. “Maybe you could use some of that time to call your father?” 

Stiles cringed. “I'm not . . . I'm not ready for that yet.” 

“You know he's worried about you.”

“I know,” Stiles sighed. “I know. I just . . . I just can't face him right now. Just give me a couple days.”

“Face him? He's not judging you, Stiles. He just wants to know how you're doing.” 

“I know.”

“He's not going to be mad or yell at you, if that's what you're worried about. He's a good guy. He'll understand. He just wants-” 

“Chris, please.” Stiles interrupted. “I know. I'll get there. We'll have our conversation but just, not today, please?”

“If you're sure,” Chris said skeptically. “Come join me and Peter for a shower?” he held his hand out. 

Stiles took it. 

* 

He wasn't sure if he loved or hated showering. It was quickly becoming a team event. Chris's hands spread shampoo evenly through his waterlogged hair, while Peter gently massaged some kind of skin care product into his shoulders and down his back. It felt nice, having both pairs of warm arms on him, leaving gentle kisses on his body, but it also made him feel incredibly, sickeningly vulnerable. 

He still couldn't let them touch his stomach and pressed away whenever anyone touched him above his waist or below his rib cage. They were sensitive enough to avoid even looking at the area. 

Peter didn't seem to care too much that the spray from the shower head barely touched him. He focused solely on the omega, on working the lotion into his back, chest, shoulders, throat, and hips. Stiles tilted his chin up when Chris encouraged him with his finger. He pulled him closer underneath the water so his hair could be rinsed of the mint scented conditioner. The water hit the top of his head and flooded down his back and chest in a warm streams that pinkened his skin. Chris pushed his hair back and kept the water from falling down into his eyes.

The alpha looked down at him with the same concerned, pitying expression he'd worn since Stiles confessed his fears to him in the bedroom. He pressed his lips to Stiles forehead, and then wrinkled his nose when some of the shampoo water made it's way into his mouth. Stiles lips quirked up just a little. The smile was quick to fade, but for the fraction of a second it graced his face Chris's blue eyes lightened. 

“That's why you don't kiss in the shower,” he said. Normally he would have added _dum bass_ , and Chris would have smacked him on his ass for it, or growled and nipped at his ear. Stiles almost wished he would have, because this strange, nonsexual intimacy they'd coated him in wasn't normal. He wanted normal. He wanted Peters hands on his hips and Chris's mouth on his throat. He wasn't sure if the water on his cheeks was from the shower head or his eyes, but either way Chris wiped it away with his thumb. 

“But we like kissing you in the shower,” Peter whispered huskily in his ear. He planted a firm kiss on Stiles jawbone, leaning over his shoulder to do so. “You're especially cute when your face is red, and your skin is pink.” He nuzzled Stiles throat, wrapping his arms around his torso. He rested his head against Stiles shoulder.

“I love you,” Stiles said, just as the scalding water turned tepid. His skin started to shiver and he found himself pressing back into Peters naturally warmed body.

“I love you too,” Peter said. He kissed him again. Stiles looked back at the wolf. His hair was barely wet, and only his chest from where he'd hugged Stiles to him had any water. “Let's get out now, while there's still some water left for the ocean, hm?” Stiles nodded.

Chris turned around and shut off the shower. He was about as dry as Peter, save for his wet back and neck. His hair had been wet, but now it was already starting to dry at the ends. He hadn't realized how much time they'd spent under the water together. It felt like just a few minutes.

Peter pushed back the shower door and helped Stiles climb out ahead of him. The tiles were cold underneath his feet. His skin shivered as the chilly air brushed its fingers against him. 

“Neither of you even got clean,” he grumbled as his hair was assaulted with a fluffy blue towel. It was Peters towel, not his. The werewolf stepped out behind him. He turned Stiles around – keeping the towel on his head – and pressed their foreheads together. 

“I think you'll find we've never gotten clean while sharing the shower with you,” he smirked and it made Stiles heart skip a single beat. Their lips pressed together again for what must've been the twentieth time they day. He closed his eyes and let himself feel the warmth of Peters lips on his. Peter didn't even try pushing for more. His kiss was soft, and sweet, and chaste. Very much not like Peter. 

Stiles wrapped his arms around the wolves throat, pressing his wet chest against Peters dry, muscled body. He felt a second towel wiping down his throat, then his shoulders and arms, and then down his back. Then Peter released him from his hold. He took the towel once again and finished wiping down his hair and the side of his face. 

“I can clean myself up, you know.” 

“You _can_. But if we gave you the choice you wouldn't,” Chris said calmly from behind them. Stiles grimaced. He knew it was true. Given the choice he'd spend all day in bed, unmoving. Preferably with his head buried in either alphas chest. 

Peter left the bathroom and returned with clothes in his hands. Stiles accepted them when they were practically shoved into his arms. He tugged on the hoodie that smelled like Peters cologne, and pulled on the sweatpants that at one point belonged to Chris. He wasn't quite sure when he'd started commandeering their clothes, but now he had a very sizable collection of hoodies and sweatpants that were just slightly too big for him. He put his hands into the pocket of the hood. He sniffed his shoulder, relishing the scent of cedar wood that Peter carried with him. It mixed nicely with the trace of minty shampoo still on his skin.

Peter didn't miss the movement and neither did Chris. They both reached over and scented his back and shoulders, avoiding his over sensitive stomach. When they were done and he was thoroughly coated in their smells he spoke up again. 

“I love you,” he said, not addressing either in particular. 

“We love you too,” said Peter. 

“We think you are the most perfect omega in the entire world.” 

Stiles didn't refute the claim. He knew what they'd say if he did. They'd tell him they loved him, that nothing was wrong with him, that any flaws he carried could be vastly overlooked by his benefits. He wasn't looking for an argument, he was just looking forward to sleep. His eyes started to drift shut. Sensing he was at his limit Chris gently guided him back towards the living room. 

The trio curled up on the sofa together, with Stiles in the middle, his head on Chris's chest, and Peter just behind him, head on Stiles shoulder and arms around his waist. It was an awkward embrace, but they were together and that was the most important thing.

* 

“How is he?” 

Peter ran a hand through his hair after quietly shutting the bedroom door. “'Better' is an inaccurate term.” Trying to comfort Stiles did no good, he saw their efforts as pity rather than affection. He longed to take the boy in his arms and tell him that the evil thoughts that plagued his mind weren't true. When he did, Stiles only nodded and sniffled. He knew they weren't true, it didn't matter. They hoped that spending more time with him one-on-one would get him to finally open up. So far their efforts had been in vain.

Chris held out a coffee for him, which Peter gladly took. It never took long to lull Stiles back into sleep, his terrorized brain longed for rest even though it just made him groggy and disoriented in the morning. Peter wanted to go back and join him, but he needed to talk to his other mate. They'd been so wrapped up in him they'd started neglecting each other, and that wasn't healthy either. They waited for him to fall asleep before sneaking out into the kitchen for a drink in a chat.

“He should have just told me what was wrong from the start. I would have helped him. He never tells me what's going on in that head of his,” Peter sighed. He sipped the coffee and slid into his chair on the other side of the table. 

“Hm, I wonder who he could have gotten that from?” Chris joked, but the humor was lost on him. In his hand he held a mug of tea. It wasn't his usual drink, Stiles had been trying to get them all of caffeine for a while, long enough to amount six or seven large boxes of tea bags in the cabinet. 

“Are you saying it's my fault?” Peter had his own internal demons to deal with; namely that he'd been the one constantly pressuring Stiles about his pregnancy, or lack-thereof. What if it had all been staved off by his stress, and anxiety? It made him nervous, he stopped eating, he got sick, the sickness stopped him from having babies? Deaton said it was all just chemicals in his body that weren't being produced, and anxiety had been known to affect chemical and hormone levels. 

Chris snapped him from his thoughts. “I meant both of us, Peter. I'm not exactly great with my words either. Case in point.” 

“Sorry,” Peter muttered.

Chris waved off the apology. For all the pointless bickering they did they hardly apologized, and it hardly mattered. They still loved each other, even if they were both stubborn assholes. 

Peter reached his palm out on the wooden surface of the table. Chris took his cue to slot their fingers together with a wordless smile. His hands were still warmed from the tea. 

“John keeps calling me,” Chris said. “He wants to talk to Stiles. I just told him he's been sleeping and I don't want to wake him, but I don't think he believes me.” 

“Why doesn't he ever call me with this stuff?” Peter asked. “Am I not as much of an alpha as you are?” he felt another pinning stab of anxiety in his chest. 

Chris gave a little, halfhearted laugh. “Because you'd just hang up on him.” 

Well, that wasn't untrue. “What does he know?” 

“That Stiles went to the hospital, and that's what scares him. You know about his wife, Stiles mother? I told him it's nothing like that, a minor issue but he's taking it hard. He doesn't like the idea of his boy in the hospital.” 

“This issue isn't minor.” 

Chris squeezed his hand. “I know that, but there's no reason to freak John out over it. I don't want him showing up here with a half dozen squad cars ready to take Stiles home. Do you?”

Peter shook his head. “No, that was probably a wise decision. But will it actually stop him from showing up here?” He traced the rim of his coffee cup with a finger.

“Not for long, no. I told him I'd give Stiles the day tomorrow to call himself, and if he doesn't then I'll fill him in on everything that's been happening.”

“Stiles won't be happy about that,” he shook his head. The omega was already paranoid, going behind his back would only damage what little trust he had. 

“I know, but, it's not fair to keep John in the dark. Stiles is his only kid, and they've always been close. I don't know why this is so hard to admit to him, when he had no problem admitting everything _else_ about our private life.” There was just a tiny trace of bitterness in his tone. 

Peter couldn't suppress a small laugh. He still remembered the feeling of opening the door and finding a very protective sheriff Stilinski brandishing a gun and demanding to know which alpha had propositioned his son for a mating. He wasn't pleased when the answer was 'both.' Stiles had many notable qualities; being able to keep secrets from his father was not one of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading. Your kudos and comments fill me with joy n.n *huggles tight*


	5. Chapter 5

In the middle of the night, long after they were all supposed to have fallen asleep Stiles found Chris in the kitchen, a phone pressed to his ear and a disturbed frown on his face. His eyes were exhausted, his fingers tapping a tense rhythm on the table. Stiles hovered in the doorway, hoping he hadn't yet been seen. 

“Stiles is my best friend as much as he is my omega, he's always been kind and understanding when I've been through struggles, so now I have to be that person for him. Part of that means respecting when he says he isn't ready. I'm not going to force him into something that makes him uncomfortable.” 

There was a pause while the person on the other end responded. “Well yes, because that's _Peter._ No I don't-”Chris went quiet again. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, he's not doing that. He's not really been crying a lot, not while we're around anyways. He's just thinking too much and keeping it all to himself. I'm not trying to keep you out of the loop, John, I just-”

“My dad? Why are you talking to my dad?” Stiles asked.

Chris eyes flicked over to his. His face flashed with guilt. “-I'll call you later.” Without waiting for a response he hung up the phone. He took a deep breath before responding. “Because you won't talk to him yourself. He's really worried about you, Stiles. It's not fair to keep him in the dark with all that's been going on. He needs to hear from you.”

“I'm just not ready, yet. I told you that. I told you I wasn't ready to talk about this with him. You should have waited for me.”

“And let him think somethings much worse than it is? Stiles, it's been over a week. I know you're still upset – we all are – but-” 

“No!” Stiles shook his head. “This is happening to _me_ , Chris. Just me. It doesn't give you permission to go around talking about me to other people.” 

“It _doesn't_ just involve you.” Chris's eyes narrowed sharply. “It involves me, and Peter, and your father. Scott, Kira, _everyone_. Even Scott says you hardly speak to him for more than a few minutes at a time. Your dads worried sick about you. You've never avoided him this long, ever. Any father would be scared.” 

“How would you know how a father feels? You're never going to be one!” Stiles knew he stepped over the line the second his words were out. Chris's eyes went wide with shock. His breath caught. Stiles angry expression faded into a deep frown. 

“Chris, I-” Chris raised his hand up to silence him. Stiles closed his mouth. Chris took a deep breath and slowly rose up from his chair. He picked up his jacket from the back of the chair. 

“I think I just need to go for a drive,” he said, sliding his phone into his pocket and shrugging on his jacket. He brushed past Stiles to the living room. 

“Wait, Chris,” Stiles furrowed his brow. “Where are you going?” 

“I'm just going for a drive, I'll be back soon.” There was something off in his tone, it was unnaturally soft. He grabbed his keys off of the counter top, not giving Stiles a second glance. 

Stiles stomach twisted in his gut. “Chris, no. Look, I-I kinda stepped over the line and I'm sorry, but just don't leave. Don't leave, okay, Chris?” 

“I just need some time to myself Stiles. I'll be back.” 

“Where are you going to go?” Stiles grabbed his hand and squeezed. Chris looked back at him, finally letting their eyes meet. They were sad and dark. His stoic expression broke and a look of deep pain ran through his features. Stiles squeezed his hand harder, feeling a horrible wave of guilt for saying something so awful that Chris's calm, collected, mask broke into pieces. 

“I don't know,” Chris said, pulling his hand out of Stiles. “I'm just _going_ ,” his voice was shaking. He didn't wait for a response before he yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind him. For a split second all Stiles could do was stare at the door shut in his face. Then he wrenched it open again, just in time to see the car pull out of the driveway. Stiles heart did a somersault. He stood in the doorway for a second, watching Chris's car disappear around the bend. Then he whirled around and ran to their bedroom in a moment of panic. 

“Peter! Peter, wake up!” Stiles shook him hard by his shoulders. The werewolf grunted. 

“Ugh. What is it?” His eyes creaked open. He sat up when he saw the heartbroken look on Stiles face. “What's wrong?” 

“Chris left,” he said. “He just got up and left.” 

“Oh?” Peter blinked the sleep from his eyes. “What happened?” He threw the blanket off his legs and stood up, heading towards the living room. Stiles followed at his heels. 

“We, well, I said some things that maybe I shouldn't have. He said he needed to go for a drive and then he _left_.”

Peter lifted the curtain to one side and peered out the window. “So he did. I'm sure it's fine. What exactly did you say?” 

Stiles cringed, “that he wouldn't know how my dad feels, because he's never going to be a father?” 

Peter winced. “Oh,” his tone went into the same dead tone that Chris had. His shoulders tensed and then dropped. 

“I didn't mean it,” Stiles said quietly. If he'd eaten anything recently his body might have compelled him to throw it up. 

“Just because you didn't mean it doesn't mean it's not true. That doesn't mean it doesn't _hurt_. I'm sure he just needs some time to himself. He'll be back by morning.” He let the curtain fall back down over the window and turned to face the omega, just like Chris his eyes were so much less guarded. 

“What if he isn't, though? What if I pushed him too far? What if he decides its not _worth_ coming back?” Stiles paced around in circles. He hugged himself tight, digging his nails into his own arms. “Oh god, oh god, oh god, this is all my fault.” 

“Stiles. . .” Peter turned back to him. “That's ridiculous. Of course he's coming back.” 

“He has to come back though, right? Like he has to. His work stuff is here, his clothes are here . . .” He felt his stomach doing backflips as he thought of all the possibilities. He wished he'd been more grateful when Chris made him hot chocolate, or offered to drive him to the store. 

“Stiles.” 

“-but he got all that money from his dads life insurance. He could just buy new stuff!

“Stiles.” 

“Why would he ever want to come back to his horrible, sickly, omega-” 

“STILES!” Stiles head whipped up. Peter was standing right in front of him, his eyes a deep shade of crimson. “ _Calm down_.” Stiles shoulders relaxed without his consent. Peters tone made his every muscle and nerve ache with compulsion to do as he said. The wolves hands were on his, they gently pulled his fingers away from his abused arms, leaving only the light purple splotches where he'd gripped himself. He'd only used the tone on him a few times before, and only during a panic attack. Stiles held his arms out. Peter was quick to embrace him. 

“Don't you get it?” he asked with a sniffle. “Chris, _left_!” He closed his eyes and buried his face into Peters shoulder. 

“Yes, I'm sure he did,” Peter nodded. “It's okay.” He petted Stiles head gently.

“Oh, god,” Stiles groaned. His stomach felt nauseous. He clung to Peter miserably. 

“He left the house, he didn't leave _us_. He just needs some time to himself.” 

“But I yelled at him! I said some really mean things. All he did was call my father to let him know I was okay. Peter . . . we have to go find him.” 

“Stiles, you are the most perfect, wonderful, darling omega there is.” Peter sighed. “You are also incredibly stupid. Chris just got angry and stormed out, just like how you've stormed out, and I've stormed out, plenty of times before this. He will come back. Everyone always comes back. When he does you can apologize, and everything will go back to normal.” Peter kissed him lightly on his forehead. 

Stiles sniffled. He hugged his alpha tighter, and Peter was more than willing to return it. “Does god hate me?” he asked quietly. 

“I don't know, he and I aren't very close.” He could just sense the wry smile on Peters face. 

Stiles pulled back from his hold. “I'm sorry, Peter,” he sighed. “I know I've been kind of . . . dreadful, these past few weeks.” 

“Given the circumstances I think you have the right to be a little dreadful. Just a little.” Peter kissed the top of his head again. He stroked a hand through his hair, down the nape of his neck, to the place between his shoulder blades. 

“You shouldn't be here with me, you should be with Chris talking about what an ass I am.” 

“Oh, I'm sure we'll do that at some point,” Peter said whilst repeating his stroke. “But right now I'm more concerned with taking care of you, my love.”

“This is the worst year of my life,” Stiles sighed. He buried himself back in Peters embrace. Peter laid his head down on top of his. 

“I wouldn't say its been the worst. One good thing has come out of it at the very least, Chris and I have been having a lot more sex recently since you've been out of commission. So that's nice.” 

Stiles laughed sharply. The sudden intake of air hurt his chest. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so honestly. He knew Peter was lying, they never left his side once they were home. “I'm glad my crippling depression has helped you get laid,” he said, with a few sparkling tears in his eyes. Only this time, a bright smile shone on his face. He loved Peter, truly loved him. He loved him and his borderline evil sense of humor that always brought a smile to his face. 

Peter nodded. “It has, thank you. But don't ever get this way again. . . I missed your laughing.” 

“I'll do my best.” 

They waited in the living room for Chris to return. Stiles watched the window vigilantly for headlights. Every time a car passed he lifted his head from Peters shoulder and tensed in anticipation of apologizing. It wasn't for several hours that the car lights that passed on the street were finally the right lights. 

“Chris, I'm sorry,” Stiles said when the man reentered the room. His face was so tired and his shoulders sagged. Stiles got the impression he'd been crying. It made the knot in his stomach tighten. Chris almost never cried. 

“Hey, kid,” Chris said. He opened his arms and Stiles was quick to fall into them. They embraced tightly. Stiles pressed his face into Chris's collarbone. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too,” Stiles said. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. I don't know why I said them, it was stupid and dumb. Just because I'm feeling bad doesn't mean I should try to make you feel badly too.” 

“This . . . this thing that we're dealing with, it effects us all. You know that, right? Peter and I are so worried about you, Stiles. We love you so fucking much. We're hurting too. You aren't going through this alone.” 

“It feels like I'm alone,” Stiles mumbled against his clothing. “I'm the one stuck in the broken body. You two can just _leave_ whenever you want.” 

“No, we can't,” Chris laughed, almost sorrowfully. “We can't just leave you. We love you far too much for that. Every time one of us walks out that door we always wind up right back here again. I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Stiles sighed. “I love you, so much.” 

“Yeah, I know. I love you too.” He rested his head on top of Stiles. Softer, he said, “are you ready to talk to your father yet?” 

Stiles stiffened. “. . . Not yet,” he admitted. His stomach twisted at the thought. A part of him did long to hear his fathers smooth, reassuring voice. Another part of him stressed over the words he knew were soon to come. “But . . . can you tell him I'm feeling a little better? Just a little.” 

“Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all for leaving such nice comments on this n.n


	6. Chapter 6

On the second week Stiles got the news. He was now and would forever be infertile. He suspected as much, nothing good ever took that long. The doctor wanted the three of them to come to his office so they could sit down and discuss what 'options' they had. Stiles didn't want options. He didn't want discussions. He wanted sleep, he wanted Peter, he wanted Chris. That was it. Those three things. Nothing could make him better, and everything could make him worse. The diagnosis sent off another sweeping cascade of crying he couldn't control. Only now he wasn't just sad and depressed, he was _angry_. 

He was angry this was happening to him. He was angry that Chris and Peter didn't seem to care at all, aside from their sympathy- or maybe pity. He wished they were angry too, because then he wouldn't feel so bad about himself. He wouldn't feel so much like he'd disappointed them. It was weird how he'd already known in his heart what the diagnosis would be, and yet hearing the words from the doctors mouth still hit him like a bulldozer. For several days all he did was sniffle and stay locked away in the bedroom. Eventually he calmed down enough to start leaving it again. Several days after that he calmed down enough to finally let his alphas take him back to the dreaded hospital. 

The doctor couldn't just say 'you're broken and we can't fix it,' instead he had to put him through hours and hours and hours of endless testing and retesting. Stiles was exhausted and it showed. The times he was allowed to sit he slumped against the wall. When he stood his shoulders sagged. During the MRI it was no great task to stay completely still. The only thing that kept him from nodding off was the fear he felt at being in the same machine as his mother right before she died. He knew it wasn't the same machine, but it was close enough to be taxing on his already drained spirit.

Peter wasn't responding well to the tests. He didn't like other people getting so close to his mates. He liked it even less when the doctors and nurses touched, prodded, and poked him. They did it professionally, while wearing gloves, but it didn't matter to the protective alpha. When the nurse crouched down beside him Peters lips curled back over his fangs in a silent snarl. _If you get any closer I will bite you,_ he conveyed wordlessly by looming over his omega. The nurse was quick to draw his blood and get away. 

Chris wasn't fairing any better, though he wasn't taking it out on the nurses. His hand was always tightly grasping Stiles, leading him from room to room like a child. As soon as it was allowable his fingers wormed their way back into his hold. Stiles knew he was leaving a light layer of sweat against the alphas skin each time their hands parted, but the alpha never cared. He just wiped his hand against his pants and waited patiently for the next time he could reclaim his omegas fingers. 

The vague remnants of a past fight sparked in Stiles mind. He accused Peter and Chris of treating him too much like a child. Peter said that being protective wasn't the same as being patronizing, and Chris said if he'd stop acting like one he'd stop getting treated like one. The funny thing was, he didn't remember how the fight ended or what ignited it in the first place. Maybe they'd been fighting over the orange juice thing, or maybe that's what started it.

Stiles finished signing the agreement to take yet another test. The pen and clipboard were relieved from his hands. Chris fingers grazed against the back of his palm. 

“I'm not a little kid,” Stiles blurted out before he could help himself. 

Chris dropped his hand like it burnt him. He stepped away with a guilty and hurt look in his eyes. 

Stiles was quick to take it back and squeeze it tightly. He let a small, meager smile form on his lips. It only lasted a few seconds. 

“No, I'm sorry- I just – I was – I don't know.” He shrugged. He tucked his free hand back into the pocket of the jacket he'd removed over a dozen times since entering the hospital building. 

“If this is too stressful for you-” 

“Stiles is getting upset,” Peter chimed in. “We should leave.” 

“No,” Stiles shook his head. “I'm going to be upset whether I'm here or at home. We should just stay and get everything over with now.” 

“We can come back another day, it's really not a big deal.” 

Peter nodded. “I can bring you back tomorrow, or next week? They've run enough tests for now. We'll tell the nurse you're just too tired for anything else. They'll understand, and if they don't then they can bite themselves.” 

Stiles gave Peter the same fading smile. “I don't want to come back another day. I want to get everything over with now.” 

“If you're certain.” Chris thumbed over their entwined hands and gave him a weak smile. This time Peters hand found itself in the other one. 

* 

“You see here? This is where your body would have shifted around to make room for your offspring. We can see that yours is still present, just much, much smaller. Because it's present you experienced a normal puberty, and a normal first heat cycle. You were younger then, so you wouldn't have known that having such an easy heat wasn't normal.” 

Listening to the lecture about his own body was just like being back in school again. Just like in school Stiles still wasn't able to look his lecturer in the eyes. 

“For that reason I have to recommend that we take immediate action to prevent any chance of conceiving. If you were to become pregnant, the baby would have no room to grow and would, likely, die during the first or second trimester. In the worst case scenario, the strain that would put on your body in its' present condition could kill you.” 

Stiles hands tightened on his lap. His finger nails dug into his skin. “So, you're saying that if I have a baby, I'll die? And the baby dies with me?” His heart beat faster in his chest. 

Deaton sat in a chair across from him with his x-rays and blood tests and every other medical procedures results laid out clear as day in front of them. 

“I'm sorry, Stiles. I know this isn't easy to hear.” Stiles blinked to prevent the escape of tears. He knew he was broken. He didn't think he was so broken he could _die from it_. 

“I guess we're very fortunate then,” Chris said, though his voice didn't reflect the sentiment. He sat on Stiles left side, with Peter on the right. He put his hand down on top of Stiles and squeezed it lightly. “We'd be lost without our mate.” 

Peter likewise kept his hand on Stiles thigh, gently kneading into the skin. 

Stiles never had an issue sharing his personal space with his alphas. They slept together, ate together, sometimes they'd even share a fork; but having them look over all the documents about his body made him feel _invaded_. It felt like something private they weren't meant to see, and yet it was all laid bare across the table. His fingers twitched to grab the x-ray out from under Peters nose and rip it to shreds before they could examine it any further. Every time they reached out and touched one of the papers he felt the need to smack their hands away. He refrained and only tightened his clasped hands. Chris' thumb rubbed soothing circles over his knuckles. 

“What- what does that mean? Immediate action to prevent me from conceiving? I'm already – I was already taking pills before, do I have to go back on them?” He'd spent most of his childhood in and out of hospitals with his mother and father, he knew the more big, fancy words a doctor used the more clinical and emotionless they were trying to be. Deaton hadn't been the doctor his mother had seen, but the way they were speaking was just the same. 

“It's a little more complicated then that. The pills have a risk of failing. What I would suggest is having surgery to make sure it can't happen at all. It's a very simple procedure, would only take a few hours. Essentially we'd just close off the area to make it inaccessible. There might be some minor pain after the surgery, but nothing that would effect you long term. You wouldn't even notice a difference.” 

* 

Stiles was coping but maybe not as well as he could have been. Chris and Peter responded by ordering him the greasiest, fattiest, meatiest pizza they could find. Peter hand fed some of it to him while he leaned against Chris's chest on the sofa. The alphas lay with their legs up and spread over each other with Stiles wedged in between them and the back of the couch.

“Doesn't this prove I love you?” Peter complained. “I'm risking the destruction of my perfect body for you.” He swallowed down a bite of the cheesy slice. He never once ordered greasy or fattening food for himself, yet he had no qualms about taking it off someone elses plate. 

“A few carbs won't kill you, Peter,” Chris gruffed, tightening the arms he had around Stiles waist. Peter held the slice to Stiles mouth, and he took a bite, listening to his underfed stomach grumble in appreciation. He licked the grease from his lips and tried to enjoy all the love and care he was receiving. Peter and Chris were his alphas, he told himself, it was okay to let them take care of him. It was okay. 

“No,” Peter admitted, “but the resulting heart attack will.” 

“You can't get a heart attack from one slice of pizza.” There was the traditional Peter and Chris argument about nothing. “You can't have a heart attack at all. _You're a werewolf_. When has a werewolf ever died from heart disease?” 

“Well I'm not going to be the first.” 

Chris held a piece of bread stick up to Stiles mouth. He ate it from his fingers, chewing and swallowing before he laid back down against the mans chest. 

“It's not _possible_ for you to be the first. It literally can't happen.” 

“When are you guys going back to work?” Stiles asked.

“What, you don't want us sticking around?” asked Peter, raising a brow. “That's hurtful, Stiles. After I was so nice to hand feed you.” 

“I'm not sure,” Chris said, ignoring Peters dramatics. “I took off indefinitely. If you're feeling better maybe I'll start going in a few days next week.” 

Stiles furrowed his brow. “There's no reason for you to stay. We know that I'm just . . .” Stiles struggled to find a word that his alphas wouldn't find offensive, “just, not functional? You shouldn't skip out on your careers just because of me.” 

“Maybe I just need a break,” Chris shrugged, “and Peter will do anything to avoid helping someone else.” 

“I just don't want you to be missing out on something.” 

Chris squeezed him a little tighter around the middle. “Missing out on installing security systems?” he raised a brow. “I'm sure the potential threats will still be there in a couple weeks.” 

“I'm not exactly eager to return to the world of book selling, either,” Peter sighed. “Thank you for reminding me that the monotony of tracking down old Dickinson novels is waiting eagerly for my return.” 

Stiles smiled a little. He opened his mouth to respond, but a knock on the door interrupted them. 

“I'll get that,” Chris said. “Peter, could you clear away the dishes in the kitchen?” For once, Peter got up willingly. There was no fight, no protest, no snarking acceptance. Stiles furrowed his brow. He sat up to let Chris answer it. 

“It's good to see you,” Chris said to the stranger. “He's in the living room.” 

“Okay, thanks Chris.” 

Stiles froze up. He knew that voice. He knew that voice better than he knew his own. 

Scott appeared in the doorway, a small little smile on his face. He was wearing his traditional red hooded sweatshirt, hands in his pockets. Stiles was too focused on his brothers unwarned return to notice Peter and Chris sneaking silently out of the house. 

Stiles felt a rush of emotions he hadn't expected to feel, mostly relief. Scott wasn't looking at him with pity, derision, or disgust. He looked just as relieved as Stiles. It wasn't something he realized he'd been afraid of until now. The thought hadn't occurred to him that he was afraid of what Scott might do when he saw him the next time they met. 

Stiles held his arms out and Scott was quick to embrace him. They hugged tightly and fiercely enough that bruises would later be found on both their arms. Scotts eyes were wet when he pulled away. 

He accompanied Stiles back to the bedroom and for a moment they were both teenagers again. They nuzzled and pressed together, completely enveloping each other in their combined scents. There wasn't anything romantic to it, it was just like two brothers who hadn't been together in a very, very, long time. It might just have been a year since Scott moved to New York, but taking in his presence was like drinking freshwater after a life at sea. 

“I missed you so much,” Stiles said. 

“I missed you, too. I forgot to watch Star Wars.”

Stiles growled playfully. “You're the worst.” 

Peter and Chris were conspicuously absent for the rest of the day, while Scott and Stiles proceeded to gorge themselves on what remained of the pizza. Stiles stomach groaned at the first real meal he'd had in a long while. He wasn't sure why being with Scott encouraged him to eat in a way that neither Chris or Peter could. It just worked that way. 

“I shouldn't have waited for Chris to call me. I should have just come. I'm sorry,” Scott looked at him with those apologetic, puppy brown eyes that hardly made him seem like an alpha at all. 

“Don't apologize to me. Everyone keeps apologizing to me, but nobody did anything wrong.” 

“Including you.”

“That,” Stiles hesitated. “I'm not so sure about that.” 

Scott waited quietly for him to continue. 

“Chris and I got into a fight,” he admitted. “Well, I fought. He didn't do anything.” Stiles sighed. “He just drove away. Is that when he called you?” It must have been, the alphas hardly left his side since they'd been home. 

“Yeah,” Scott nodded. “He said you weren't doing so good. Weren't dealing with things well. I tried to call but you had your cellphone shut off.” 

Stiles nodded guilty. “Yeah, I kinda let it die on purpose. I just didn't want to talk to anyone. They all keep saying the same things and I hate how people look at me.” 

“Is that why you won't talk to your dad?” Scott asked as he licked the last trace of pizza grease from his fingers. 

Stiles stilled. “Chris told you about that too, huh?” 

Scott shook his head. “I heard it from my mom. She said you two were having some . . . issues.”

“I don't know . . . I just . . . I guess I'm,” he struggled for words. “Afraid of seeing him again, or talking to him? I think I know what he'll say when we do I just am really not ready to hear it.”

“What do you think he'll say?” 

“That my mom would have been proud of me,” Stiles lips trembled. “I can't . . . I just . . .” he shrugged. “I feel like I'm letting her down. All she did on this earth was give life to me, and now I can't even carry that on for her by having a kid of my own.”

“Your dad always said you had her spirit. You had her humor, and her smile. You give those to other people on a daily basis, you don't need to have a child to carry on her memory. Besides, I don't think the world could handle another Stiles Stilinski.” Scott smiled weakly and it forced up a small, bubbling, laugh from Stiles lungs. 

“Good, because there won't _be_ anymore Stilinskis.” A pang hit him right in the chest. He'd been avoiding the thought like the plague. The idea of not carrying on his family line, of not giving his parents a next generation _hurt_ , more so than not having a child of his own to care for. 

“I don't want my mom to be disappointed, Scotty.” 

“I remember your mom, before she died. I remember how much she loved children,” Scott looked pensively to the window. “She always picked us up from school and played with us in the park. I don't think she cared I wasn't her actual son, anymore than my mom cares that you aren't hers. She loved us. She just always wanted to make everyone smile.” 

“Scotty . . .” 

“I don't think she'd be disappointed if you never had a child. I think she'd be disappointed if you stopped smiling over it.” 

Stiles felt the tears forming in his throat before he actually felt them in his eyes. He knew he would cry once more before Scott left, he just really, really hated crying. He hated it so much. It was all he did and it solved nothing. It only made him feel worse, and the people around him too. 

“We always said our kids were going to grow up _together_ , but I won't _have any_.” 

“I know,” said Scott, sadly. “That's okay though. You always said you would just steal mine when you wanted some to play with. Then you could return them when they needed naps or all the not-fun parts. You're going to be the best uncle ever. I promise, and if you decide you really want a kid, there are other options.”

“I know,” Stiles said sadly. “I . . . they're good options, I just . . . I don't know.” He shrugged. 

Scott nodded, understandingly. “Maybe it might help if you talked to your dad about some of this stuff?” 

Stiles took a deep breath. “I'm not ready to talk to him yet, but I'm getting there. I promise, I am. You can tell him that. I know he's worried, and I know he wants to talk, but I just . . . I need more time before I can have that conversation, okay?” 

“He told me if you didn't want to talk about it, you didn't have too. He just wants to hear your voice.” 

Stiles smiled meekly. “We both know that's not true. He'd try to keep his word but he'd fail. He just wants to fix everything for me. He'd pry, intentionally or not. Let him know I love him, but I'm not ready to talk just yet.” 

“If that's what you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a little longer than most! I am back to my regular update schedule now n.n


	7. Chapter 7

When all the pizza was consumed and only a few stray bread sticks remained in the box, Scott and Stiles sprawled out with Stiles head resting adjacent to his friend's belly, legs dangling off the side of the bed. He felt calm, seeing his friends' eyes void of pity and scorn. It helped to know he wasn't as repulsive as he'd imagined himself to be. 

“So what are you going to do, Stilinski?” Scott asked. “We know how Peter feels, we know how Chris feels, and we know how _you_ feel. So what now?” 

Stiles took a deep breath before answering. “If I had a baby right now I'd always wonder if I did it for the right reason. If after everything Peter and Chris have done to make me feel good about myself again, if I put them through hell after all of that – just to prove I can put them through hell – I don't know how much longer our relationship would last.” He smiled weakly and fiddled with his fingers over his chest. 

“Stiles no-” Scott started to protest. 

“No, what I mean is – those two, they love me so much that they'd stop their work-obsessed lives just to hang out on the couch with me when I'm feeling depressed. Peter forced me to wake up every morning and eat something. Chris cuddled me and watched movies he didn't like just because I said I wanted to. We don't need a baby to make us complete – we already are. I know if it was one of them in my position, I'd do the same thing for them too. I'd go on all the fucking jogs Peter wanted, and I'd practice archery until my fingers bled and went numb for Chris.” 

Stiles looked up at the ceiling with a contemplative expression and rolled onto the stomach. He tucked his arms underneath himself and looked at Scott, who watched him with a curious and hopeful expression. 

“I'm . . . I'm really happy about that, Stiles. I was kind of scared when you told me you had two alphas, and they were both older than you. I didn't know what you're relationship was going to be like.” 

“Yeah I know,” said Stiles with a hint of old bitterness in his tone. “You told my dad, and he showed up at their house with a shotgun.” He shot off a halfhearted glare. 

Scott returned a sheepish smile. “I'm sorry. I'll try to love you less in the future.”

Stiles cracked a smile. It was getting easier, and easier to do that. “Thanks,” he said. 

“You know what you should do?” Scotts' was dripping with thinly veiled anxiety. 

Stiles took another deep breath and sighed. “Yeah, I know what I should do.” 

Later that day he sat on the bed with one arm curled around his knees. The phone only rang once before the other line picked up. 

“Stiles? How the fuck are you?” 

“H-hey, dad,” he said weakly. “I'm doing alright. I''m still sad but just, not as much. Peter and Chris have been taking good care of me.” 

“Good, because I was about to show up with my shotgun again if you didn't call me soon.” He sounded serious, but Stiles knew him well enough to tell it was just a blanket sheet hiding a mess of anxiety. 

“Oh god,” Stiles laughed. “Please don't kill my mates. I've been beating up on them enough lately. They don't deserve to be threatened.” 

“Maybe not Chris,” said the sheriff, who always held a bit of fondness for the stoic alpha and his 'do good' ways. Peter, he was less enthused about but had warmed up to over time.

“I'm coming to your surgery, by the way.” He said in his no-nonsense tone that reminded Stiles of back when he was a teenager. His rebellious years never really ended, but at the very least his father had gotten to perfect the art of inflection. 

“Oh, so you and Chris have still been talking?” Stiles smiled. He could practically hear the sheriff bristle on the other end. 

“Damn right we have, and if you think for one second that I should apologize for-” 

“I'm glad,” Stiles hurried to say before the rant could continue. “Like, really glad.” 

John went quiet. 

“I'm . . . I'm happy you didn't just give up on me I- I was acting like a brat because I didn't know what else to do and I-” he cleared his throat to retake his breath, “-and we should probably be having this conversation in person, but, I don't think I could look you in the eyes if we were, and you hate that. Thanks for not letting my stupid ruin things any more than it already was.” 

“Oh, Stiles,” John said. Stiles could already envision the soft way his graying eyebrows would angle upwards in sympathy. He could feel the tight arms wrapped around his shoulders, and the course feel of his sheriffs' jacket pressed to his cheek. It was nice, being able to receive a hug just from a tone of voice. He wiped his eyes before the tears had a chance to grow and could ruin what should have been a lovely moment. “You're my son, I'd never let your stupid ruin things. Hard as it tries.” 

“God, I feel so loved right now.” Stiles cheeks almost hurt from the strain of bearing the widest grin he'd had in months. He'd smiles, sure, but grinning had become foreign to him. 

“You should. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, and I want you to come to my surgery. I do. But it's only going to take like an hour or so. We can meet up before, or after if you'd rather not be in the hosp-” 

“Stiles. I am a grown man, and if I want to see my kid before he has his surgery I will. You couldn't get a court order to stop me if you wanted too.” 

Stiles sighed. “Yes, sir.” 

“When is it?” 

“Uh, next month. Deaton says I need to get back up to a proper weight before I have it. It's not intrusive or anything, he just wants to be safe.” 

“Good,” the sheriff nodded. “I'll eat an extra big mac for you later in solidarity. For you, Stiles. I will cheat on my diet for you.” 

“Thanks, dad, you've always been there for me.” His tone held only the faintest hint of sarcasm. 

* 

“I don't want to go on a trip,” Stiles grumbled as he pulled on the clothes he'd been handed. He checked his phone, it was already past noon, but he still hated that he'd been woken up. Deatons' 'diet' made him feel bloated and uncomfortable most of the time, but only two weeks remained before his surgery. 

“I don't care,” Peter said. 

Stiles momentarily wondered why he'd ever wished for the wolves callous nature to return. He tugged on his shirt while Peter checked his phone. 

“Grab whatever you want from the fridge, it's going to be a long drive.” He wore his usual jeans and a V-neck. 

“How long of a drive?” Stiles had seen him sneaking a backpack into the car when he thought he wasn't looking. For now, Stiles was willing to play along and not ask too many questions. 

“Nice try. We're picking Chris up at the station,” his question was completely glossed over as Peter ushered him outside and locked up the house. Stiles clambered into the backseat, casting a look back for the bag Peter had stowed away. It was so stuffed up the zipper wouldn't close all the way. He reached for it and earned himself a growl. 

“It's a surprise, Stiles. Please, just go with it.” 

Stiles shrugged and left the backpack alone. 

“Look, I brought your game and some comic books. Play with them until we get there.” He was handed a small stack of assorted objects Peter probably just grabbed from off the dresser without really looking at them. 

“Get where?” 

“Once again – nice try.” Peter fixed him with a look. “Now shut up and play your game.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes and pulled his gaming device from the pile. A tiny trickle of sound came from the speakers as the puzzle game loaded up. 

“Thanks, Peter,” he said. 

Peter hummed. 

“I love you, Peter.” 

“I love you too, Stiles.” 

The alphas weren't saying it as much as they had been, but when they did it felt more natural. The statement was less a reassurance and more of an actual fact. They loved him, and Stiles loved them back. He smiled and started the first level of his puzzle game. 

By the time they got to the office he was already on level three. Chris got into the car and flashed a warm smile at the omega in the backseat. “Excited for the trip, Stiles?” 

“I might be if I actually knew where we're going.” 

Chris chuckled. “You'll like it. Trust me.” 

Peter pulled out of the parking lot and out onto the highway. Stiles glanced up casually from his game every so often to see the trees passing by. He recognized the signs leading towards the beach, but if they wanted to take a beach trip there were plenty closer to home. 

His suspicions were proven correct as Peter turned off the highway and onto the small city. It wasn't one of the larger known beaches, just a small place where old couples went to retire. 

“You brought me to the beach? You both hate the beach.” Stiles saved his game and put it down on the car seat. 

“I don't hate the beach,” Chris said. “I hate the heat. The weather's not supposed to be too bad today, so I think I can suffer through it just this once.” 

“I hate crowds,” Peter grumbled, and that much was true. His annoyance of things usually stemmed from how loud or overpopulated they were. “I like the beach. When it's quiet, at least.” Peter stayed silent for a second. “I like shirtless people.” He made pointed eyes at Chris who flipped him off. 

They walked around the boardwalk for a while. It was the off-season, so there were only a few elderly couples lingering in the area. Around them, a few vendors still sold their snacks both sweet and fried. Peter somehow managed to find a beer, though it did little to get him drunk. Chris kept pausing to admire the sun as it continuously drifted lower in the sky. He was behind them for so long that Stiles didn't even notice him slipping away. 

He leaned up against one of the railings and listened to the waves crash against the pillars of the dock. The gulls cried overhead. Gently he felt a hand lay across his. Stiles looked up at Peter with a soft smile and bumped his head into his shoulder. Peter was frowning. 

“Hey,” Stiles said gently. “You okay?”

Peter squeezed his hand lightly. “Do you hate me?” 

“What? No, of course not. Where did that come from?” The smile dropped from Stiles' lips. 

“I found your . . . things in the garage.” 

Stiles paled. He'd completely forgotten about the old tests he'd taken. 

“I was pestering you for weeks, and you never once told me there was anything to be concerned about. You just brushed it off, but then you went and told Chris when the two of you were alone. You thought I'd let Talia separate us. Why don't you talk with _me_ about these things? Why were you so certain I'd chose her over you? Why did you need Chris to tell you I wouldn't be mad?” The wolves eyes were dark. He was trying not to look upset and failing. 

Stiles sighed and entwined his fingers with Peter. “Because I know how much family means to you. I thought that you might not take it well if I told you we might not get to make one of our own. You absolutely adore your nieces and nephews, and even though you hate Talia you always visit her so you can play with the babies. I didn't want to tell you that you might not get your own.” He thought to Peters' wince the night Chris had stormed out on him, once he'd heard the words Stiles said that caused their fight. 

Peter frowned. “I do have a family; I have you and Chris, and like you said I have my nieces and nephews. That's all I need.” 

“But not all that you want.” 

“Yes, but we all know that my wants aren't always the most practical or rational.” Peter poked his nose and the faint trace of a smile reappeared on his lips. “I wanted you, after all. Don't be afraid to tell me things, promise me that if anything like this ever happens again you won't hide away, waiting for me to find out. Don't make Chris be the one to tell me.” There was more plea in his voice than Stiles had ever heard, it couldn't just be buried under a thin smile and a light speaking voice. He moved closer to Peter and wormed his way underneath his arm. 

“I promise. I love you, Peter. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. . . I should have done a lot of things sooner.” He sighed. The scent of sugar and cooking oil hit his nose. He sniffed and turned around. 

“Did I interrupt something?” Chris asked, a paper basket in his hands. 

Peter shook his head. 

“Deep fried Oreos?” Stiles asked. “Really? You hate this stuff. You think it's stupid.” 

“Yeah,” Chris agreed, “but you don't.” He passed the sugary confection into Stiles waiting hands. Stiles smiled, a genuine, warm smile that almost hurt his face after having gone so long without one. He wondered if there was a length or depth to which Peter and Chris would not go for him and came to the conclusion that no, there was not.

“C'mon,” Peter pushed them both towards the stairway leading to the sand. “Let's go eat your disgusting snack on the sand. Maybe the ocean salt will wipe the stench from my noise.” 

Stiles chuckled and let himself be led away.

They sat on their beach towels and ate the fattening food in silence while the sunset overhead. Chris occasionally checked his phone while Stiles and Peter cuddled together. As the sky turned pink and purple a soft pair of footsteps grew closer behind them. Stiles didn't pay any attention to them until they were only a few feet away. 

Chris looked back first. 

“John,” said Chris. Stiles blinked his tired eyes and looked up. The sheriff stood next to Chris, barefoot on the sand. He nodded at the other alphas. 

“Chris, Peter.” Peter released his arm from around Stiles' shoulders and moved to the side. 

“Dad?”

“Hey, kid.” John gave a weak smile. “Ready to talk to me yet?” he sat down beside his boy. 

Peter and Chris stood from where they'd sat to shielding him from the world. John took Chris' place on his right and draped an arm around his son. Stiles' lips trembled. He scooted up to the mans' side and rested his head against his shoulder. He sniffed and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He heard the sound of Chris and Peters feet in the sand as they walked away from the pair, giving them their privacy. 

“I'm glad you're here,” Stiles said. Seeing him was much more of a relief than he thought it would be. Talking to him on the phone was one thing, seeing him in person was another. 

“Good. I was worried you wouldn't be.”

“Was it your idea to come out here?” Stiles asked. He remembered being younger and having his mother and father drive him to a beach not too far away from the one they were at. 

“No, surprisingly that idea came from Peter. I guess he _can_ be sentimental.” 

Stiles smiled. “Yeah, he's just afraid of letting anyone know he has a heart. He's always treated me well.”

“I know. I know Chris has too.” The sheriff said, squeezing his boy tight. “They've been . . . well, they exceeded my expectations for how I thought your mating would go.

Do you want to talk about the real reason you wouldn't speak with me? Scott mentioned something that didn't come up in our phone chat.” 

“Of course he did,” Stiles grumbled. “Can't we just enjoy the sunset in peace?” 

“You have until the sun hits the water,” John said.

It only took a few minutes but that was all Stiles needed to work up his courage. As the last glimmer of yellow disappeared in the horizon he found the words he wanted to say. 

“I know I should have talked to you about this sooner, but I felt _bad_.”

He felt his fathers' arm tighten around him. The older man squeezed his shoulder. “We all love you, kid. Why wouldn't you talk to me? You know I'd never be disappointed in you.” 

“I know you wouldn't, but _mom_ . . .” saying the word brought a bubble into his throat. He swallowed it down and continued. “I worry that mom would be disappointed in me.”

“She wouldn't,” John said seriously. “Trust me, she never-” 

“But after I'm gone there's not going to be any trace of her left. I feel like I'm killing her all over again,” Stiles let the tears pour from his eyes. He sobbed as John wrapped his arms tighter around his kid and hugged him tight.

“Oh, Stiles. No. Stiles, having you, just being alive was the greatest gift you could have given us. I don't need anything else from you. She didn't need anything else of you.” 

“I know that,” Stiles said, wiping the tears from his eyes. He looked at them with disgust as they hit the sand. “I know that, but my brain keeps telling me it's not true.” 

Johns tight hand around his shoulder moved to the space between his shoulder blades. He rubbed small circles into his back. “I know things weren't always great towards the end, but you should have seen the way she smiled when you were born. There is quite literally nothing you could have done that would have made her disappointed. You aren't killing your mother by not having a child. No one expected you to have one, and no one will blame you for not having one.”

Stiles took a deep, shuddering breath and laid his head down on his fathers' shoulder. “Thanks,” he muttered. “I needed to hear that from you.

* 

From over on the boardwalk Peter and Chris stood, hand over hand, leaning against the railing. 

“Did you get to have your talk with him?” Chris asked. They watched sheriff and his son finally have their much-awaited conversation. Stiles was looking up at his fathers' face while John stared out at the ocean waves. It was too dark to see anything but their silhouettes against the orange sun disappearing behind the horizon, but Chris could have sworn they were smiling. 

“Yeah,” Peter said. He leaned against the railing. 

“Go well?” 

“He said he didn't want me to be sad I couldn't have kids of my own.”

“Are you?” 

“When did you become a psychologist?” Peter asked with a scoff. 

Chris smiled. “The second I started dating a psychopath. I did my research.” 

“I guess I'm a little disappointed. Not enough that I'd ever let Stiles know,” Peter said, giving Chris a pointed look. “But I wouldn't be a good parent – the crying, the dependency, it doesn't suit me. What about you? Disappointed there won't be any Chris juniors running around?” 

“Honestly? Not really. I can't imagine what sort of mixed signals a child would learn from the three of us.” 

Peter chuckled. “Maybe you're right.” 

“Stiles is going to be okay,” Chris said. 

“I know. He's always okay.” Peter tried to act like he didn't care, like he was always confident and all-knowing. 

“It's not his fault.” 

“I know that too, Chris.” 

“It isn't your fault, either. You didn't pressure him into feeling this way. You didn't make him depressed – it might have contributed, but it wasn't you specifically. He'll be fine, we all will.”

Peter rolled his eyes, his nails dug into the wooden surface of the rails. “Yes, I am aware.” 

Chris went quiet. He stared out over the ocean and watched the two Stilinskis' chat. 

“. . . . Thanks,” Peter said, so low he almost didn't hear. Chris smiled and decided not to comment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all for stickin with me this long :D next chapter will probably be the final one, so I hope you've enjoyed the story so far.


	8. Chapter 8

“Surgery's not that bad; at least I can eat all the ice cream I want, right?” Stiles held a pillow to his chest and picked anxiously at the threads on top of the casing. He'd built a small little pile of pillow fibers on the nightstand next to his bed. 

“Actually,” Chris cleared his voice, always the unwanted voice of reason. “You probably shouldn't eat anything. Your stomach's going to be upset and you might feel a little nauseous. 

“It isn't that kind of surgery, sweetheart.” Peter patted him on the shoulder, no doubt another thinly veiled effort at scenting – he'd already sufficiently terrified most of the nurses, they didn't stay in the young omegas room for more than a few minutes at a time. 

On the other side of the bed, John crossed his arms. He didn't say anything, only looked. 

“But of course,” Peter amended, “you can have all the ice cream you want. We'll buy one of the gallon tubs from the supermarket.” His hand left his shoulder to comb the disturbed tangle of brown spikes Stiles called hair back into place. 

The man nodded approvingly. “If my son wants to eat ice cream, he can eat ice cream.” 

Chris sighed. “John, I know you're trying to do your best but-” 

John crossed his arms. 

Chris rubbed his temple. “Fine, we will torture your son's post-operation stomach with a frozen dairy product.” Under his breath, he murmured his disapproval. 

“Good man.” John leaned back in his chair. It felt strange seeing him out of his usual uniform, without coffee or paperwork in his hands. 

Stiles smiled sheepishly. “Thank you, Chris, and Dad, and Peter.” 

“I don't mean to interrupt,” Deaton said from where he'd been patiently waiting for nearly half an hour. “But I do have other patients today, and this surgery shouldn't take more than an hour. Perhaps it's time we-?” 

Three pairs of alpha eyes stared at him, two hands itched for their guns, one pair of lips rose up in a snarl, and one little omega made a promise to himself that he would send Deaton the nicest apology card. 

* 

When Stiles woke up from his surgery he was greeted by three faces unbearably close to his own. 

“Ah!” he shouted, or would have if he'd had full control over his tongue. What actually came out of his mouth was a strange gurgling noise that caused the alphas to share a look. 

“Are you alright?” asked John. 

“How are you feeling?” asked Chris.

“I got you an ice cream,” said Peter, holding up a small Styrofoam bowl with cream leaking down the side.

Within half an hour he slowly came back into lucidity. Peter tried repeatedly to place the bowl in his hands, and when that didn't work tried spooning it into his mouth instead. 

Stiles winced as the warm liquid ran down his throat; he was a lot more sore than he'd expected to be. The stitches over his belly stung when his hospital gown rubbed against them. His stomach, in general, was nauseous and queasy. 

John kept his hand on his shoulder, anxiously checking his face and his abdomen over and over again.

“The stitches are really uncomfortable,” he said when he could bring himself to speak again. He winced at the way the words grated in his throat.

“I'll make you feel better,” said Peter. 

“It's okay,” said Chris. 

“You'll feel better soon,” said John. 

All three alphas spoke at the same time. They glanced at each other. 

Stiles closed his eyes and laid his head back down against the pillow. Johns hand on his shoulder tightened. 

Stiles hadn't noticed that Chris was holding his hand until he felt his thumb sliding over his knuckles. He turned his head to the side to look at him. 

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked. 

“Peter,” Stiles said simply. 

The wolf nodded knowingly and set the ice cream container down on the desk. He placed his hand down on Stiles' thigh. 

It was cold from the ice cream and made him wince. 

John glared at the werewolf. 

Peter glared back as thick black veins traveled up his arm. 

John relaxed back into his chair.

*

Stiles looked at his stomach in the mirror, more specifically the two little scars running adjacent to his hips. After several pounds of food had been stuffed into him over the past few weeks he was looking less flat, and the small mark Peters' mouth made over his belly button made him feel less disgusting. An identical mark from Chris rested on his collarbone. 

“I'm telling people you were mauled by a boar.” 

Stiles smiled as he saw the wolf appear over his shoulder in the mirror. He dropped his shirt and turned around to kiss Peter. 

“They aren't really those types of scars. Too far apart.” 

“So what do you suggest?” Peter pulled him closer by the hips. 

“You could always just tell them the truth.” When Peter didn't respond Stiles felt the need to clarify. “I was mauled by _two_ boars.”

A grin cracked across Peters' face and their lips were pressed together again. When they broke apart he muttered, “oh woe is you. However did you survive, my beautiful, lovely omega?”

“We're going to be late,” a disgruntled voice said from the doorway. 

Stiles looked over Peters' shoulder to see Chris standing in the hallway. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his shoulders sagged down and his eyes were preemptively wary. 

“You sound like you actually care if we're late,” Stiles said, resting his head down on Peters' shoulder. 

Chris shrugged. “When I make a commitment I commit to honoring it.” 

“Well then let's go, love, wouldn't want anything to happen to your precious honor, now would we?” 

“Shut up, Peter.”

Before he turned off the bathroom light Stiles took one last look at his stomach; he still didn't like the way it looked, but Peter and Chris didn't care, and if they could overlook it, then so he could he. 

* 

“Where are my babies?” Stiles demanded, not even bothering to knock as he invaded the home. 

Two kids – a boy and a girl, each with dark black hair like their mothers, and sweet brown eyes like their father – happily sped around the corner of the sofa and leaped into their awaiting uncle's arms. 

“Oomph!” Stiles gasped as he accepted the bombardment straight to his chest. He went down on one knee as the weight of the two were babies knocked the air out of him. He hugged each tight to his chest as they clambered over him, enduring the abuse of having elbows and knees shoved into his sides and stomach. 

“He used to look at me like that,” Scott said. He watched mournfully as his children piled onto their favorite relative.

Kira patted his back. 

“Your children have taken your place,” she said softly, “but I'm sure he still loves you.” 

“I can assure you we've only come for the children,” said Peter with a dry inflection. He grabbed Dylan from off Stiles back and hefted the little shaggy-haired boy onto his shoulders. 

The little boy squealed in delight as he kicked out his legs. 

“Let's not forget uncle Stiles is human, shall we? He should be handled with care.”

Dylan grinned sheepishly and wrapped his arms around Peter's shoulders. 

Amy grinned up at Peter from where she sat on Stiles lap. Her eyes glowed a fierce yellow like her mothers. “Hi uncle Peter!” she shouted with unnecessary volume. 

Peter smiled down at her and ruffled the raven hairs that went from the top of her head to just below her shoulders. 

“Where's the candy?” Stiles asked, looking to Scott. 

Dylan and Amy both giggled. 

“No candy,” Scott shook his head. “It's almost five, and the kids have to sleep in a couple of hours. Please, please, don't get them hopped up on sugar like last time.” His puppy brown eyes flickered between Peter and Stiles- the worst but most affordable and dedicated babysitters he could find.

Stiles rolled his eyes. In Amys' ear, he whispered, “wait till he leaves and then we'll go hunting for it.” 

Amy giggled and covered her mouth with her hand.

Dylan tugged on Peters shirt collar. “I want candy too!”

“No candy,” restated Scott. He turned to Chris, who waited patiently in the doorway. “You're going to be here with them right, you won't-?” 

Chris stepped away from the doorway and looked to Scott and Kira. “I promise I won't let anything happen to your children.” The two parents smiled in relief. 

Their trust in Chris was misplaced, for as soon as they were out the door Stiles promptly produced a pocketful of sugary snacks, Peter raided the kitchen in search of cookies, and Chris settled down on the sofa for a rambunctious night of a lackluster supervision. 

A little while after they'd selected a movie to watch Amy and Dylan were nestled close to their favorite uncles. Peter hadn't taken well to not being the absolute favorite, but he was settling for second place and contented himself to resting with one arm around their omega. 

“Hey, uncle Stiles? How come you don't have any kids of your own?” Amy asked as the cartoon bear on screen was reunited with his family. 

Stiles' hands clenched, crushing a few of the popcorn pieces he held. He popped the handful into his mouth and looked up at the ceiling pensively. For just a moment his gaze was distant. “That's a hard question to answer,” he said. 

Chris and Peter bristled. They both opened their mouths to defend just as Stiles swallowed and started to speak up again. 

“I mean if I had my own kids then I wouldn't get to spend as much time with you guys. Although, I wouldn't have to drive all the way up here. I could share my candy with my own kid, take them to the park by our house, and-” 

“No!” Dylan practically screamed. He clutched onto Stiles shirt with his tiny fists and buried his head in his chest. “No, no kids! Just me and Amy!” 

“Aww,” Stiles relinquished the popcorn bowl in favor of pulling Dylan onto his lap. “You don't have to worry about that. Peter, Chris, and I aren't having any children anytime soon.” 

“Not unless something _terrible_ should happen to Scott,” Peter said, with a glance over at Chris.

“No,” said Chris.

“Oh c'mon. It's not like he'd be mad, he'd be _dead_.”

“You can't kill someone for their children, Peter. You don't even have time.” 

“Yes, I do. After work I'll just slide on over, Stiles can get the kids, I'll distract Scott and you-” 

“No, I mean you don't have time for _kids_. When we're not at work, we're out, and when we're not out, we're sleeping. Face it, our lives are just too active. Plus, we'd be on the run from Kira for the rest of our lives.”

“Don't kill my best friend, please, Peter?” Requested Stiles. He yawned and leaned his head down on Peters' shoulder. 

“Fine,” Peter relented. “I suppose we'll just be our small, happy little family forever.” 

“I suppose we will,” hummed Stiles. He squinted one eye open just in time to catch Peter kissing him softly on his forehead. A second later he felt the brush of Chris' lips against his cheek. 

They would be a happy family. With or without children. Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry all for taking so long to finish this last chapter. If you liked the story, please leave a comment below.


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